


Catharsis

by actingwithportals



Category: Portal (Video Game)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-29
Updated: 2017-05-11
Packaged: 2018-10-12 15:08:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 25,414
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10493595
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/actingwithportals/pseuds/actingwithportals
Summary: Surviving Aperture was one thing; escaping into an entirely new world with all sorts of new dangers and struggles was a whole new battle. Would they be able to make it through? Would they ever feel truly human again?





	1. Chapter 1

Red; that was all he could see. There was no more blue sky, or golden fields, or white fabric. Everything had been tainted in bright, burning red, his vision pulsing in and out of darkness. He supposed it should hurt, but everything had gone numb now. It hurt earlier, oh, how much it hurt. It was like his entire core had been ripped apart, agonizingly slow, each seam separating in painful tears. This wasn't far off from the truth. He had been ripped apart, and only shaking pale hands clasped over his midsection held him together. But it didn't hurt anymore. Maybe he was finally drifting away, and that part of him that could feel things like pain had already left him, waiting for the rest of his consciousness to follow. He was certain he heard a voice, someone calling for him, begging him to stay awake, but it was too distant now. Whatever voice that had once been was growing quieter and quieter, and he felt less obligated to pay it any mind.  
He could still see those eyes, cold and gray, burning into him with so much hatred he was surprised they didn't kill him on their own. However, that didn't matter; her hands were more than happy to take care of what her eyes couldn’t. He didn't bother to try and stop her, to run away or plead for mercy. He was much too happy to see her alive and safe, and much too apathetic to argue with her desires.  
It hadn't taken long. In fact, it probably took no longer than a few seconds, but to him it felt like hours. The sharp cold steel driven into him one, two, three times, twisting until her rage was satisfied; it was pain beyond imagination, and their eyes didn't part for one moment of it.   
When it appeared she was satisfied she left him, curled on the ground and crying with pain. She didn't utter a word, didn't even wait to watch him die. She owed him no more of her time, and she certainly didn't owe him her voice.   
The panic that set in immediately after was the worst of it. Several voices were screaming at once, telling him 'you're going to die' over and over again. There was nothing he could do about it; he was going to die there, alone and in pain and crying, because even if he could do something about it he wouldn't. If she had asked him for permission he would have given it to her. Without a second thought, he would let her do it again. He was entirely incapable of defying her, and he had nothing to fight for.  
The calm that came after was worth the terror. He could feel his body stop fighting against him as his muscles relaxed and his eyes drooped. He was still bleeding out considerably but it no longer frightened him. It was okay; it would be over soon. That voice, however, still bothered him. It wouldn't let him rest peacefully. It kept screaming in his ear for him to fight, to not lie back and let himself die. But he didn't want to listen, and tried with all his might to block it out.   
The world was still red, but it was growing darker, the bright of the sun dimming to a deep crimson, slowly being overcome by black. It was finally happening; he was finally drifting off to follow the rest of his consciousness. Everything felt light, like he could fly away at any moment. So, this was peace? After all these years of running, he was finally going to be free.

She rarely ran this far. Usually she would run to the end of the paved road and stop there to turn home, but today was different. Today she needed to run faster, harder, longer. Where she would have normally stopped she continued, feeling the hard concrete beneath her feet change to soft dirt as she slammed onto the old road leading out of the town. To her left was the woods, thick and overrun with underbrush and vines. To her right lay miles of wheat fields, some of which was tended to by the locals, but most of which had grown up and wild after years of neglect.  
She kept running, deciding to continue on this way for five minutes before turning back. She hadn't pushed herself quite so hard in a long time, it was exhilarating to feel this pressure again. Her heart was beating fast, faster than it normally did during a workout. It's because she knew what lay beyond those fields. Miles and miles away and deep, deep down was a secret; something she never dared to speak of out loud. And she was running straight towards it.  
Finally she slowed down into a stop, resting her hands on her knees and breathing heavy. She raised her head, looking out as far as she could see, only to be met with blue skies and golden fields. There was nothing as far as the eyes could see, only the natural world untouched by mechanical hands. It was a sight she never grew tired of.  
Standing up straight once more, she stretched her legs and began to start running back when a rustling in the field caught her attention. Thinking it was possibly an animal, she took out her knife that she kept strapped to her side and slowly made her way towards it. At worst it was an injured bird that had fallen from one of the nearby trees . . . at best it was dinner.   
Creeping into the field, knee deep in wheat, she slowly made her way to rustling noises, growing quieter the longer she took. Eventually, she saw a dark gray mass farther out in the field, much too large to be a bird. It only took her a few more steps to make out the shape of a person, and the deep red stains on the ground around them.  
If she had been more rational she would have stopped to think before running to the side of a complete stranger, but rationality had been thrown out of the window long ago. When she reached the person's side, she saw that he appeared to be bleeding out from his midsection, his hands covering the wound and his entire body trembling. It was difficult to make out his face underneath a tangle of long hair and beard, but it was clear he was male, and more importantly he was dying.  
She didn't bother checking to see if he were conscious, instead beginning to tear off pieces of fabric from her shirt (she could always get a new one) and moving his hands to attempt and bind the wound to try and stop some of the bleeding. Upon further inspection it was clear there was more than just one wound, possibly several, and binding it all would take a great deal more fabric. He must have not been conscious, or at least not coherent any more, because he made no attempt to fight against her as she anxiously began trying to wrap the strips of fabric around him, tying them off tightly. She had never had first aid training, at least nothing to this degree, and she hoped that what she was doing wasn't going to make matters worse.  
Once she finished, she stopped to examine the area while quickly trying to assess if there was any evidence of what had happened. There was nothing to be seen, other than a small sack that had fallen next to him and-  
Her heart stopped. She immediately recognized it, despite having only seen one before. It was smaller too than the one she had seen, but it was clearly the same thing. A small box with pink hearts on each side.  
She almost got up and ran right then, wanting nothing more to do with this person, but her brain worked faster than her fear. No, it didn't matter who this person was, she wasn't going to let him die when she could do something about it. She was going to bring him back into town and find the nearest doctor to help, but that cube was going to be left behind.  
Bracing herself, she put her arms underneath the man's back and knees and hoisted him up into a carrying position. He was lighter than she expected, but he wasn't very large so she supposed she shouldn't be too surprised. Careful to keep his head from lolling around dangerously, she began her trek back into town, going as fast as her legs would allow with the added weight. If she wasted even a moment it could be the end for him. She was not having anyone die on her watch, she was _not_.

The world was still dark when Doug finally came back around. Shadows enveloped every crevice, every sight. Pinpricks of light tried to push their way through but couldn't make it past the black mass that threatened to swallow them. It was then that the feeling started coming back; first it was a dull throb that soon rose to a fervent ache. He tried to move, tried to find what was causing the pain, but his body made no response. It was like being held down firmly against your will, unable to fight back against whatever monster held you in place. When he finally broke through it, he could barely lift his hands to cover the place that ached so painfully.   
As his mind began drifting back, he started to make out the world around him. He was in some sort of dark room, but there was light streaming in from behind him, presumably through a window. He was laying on something soft, his head supported by what must have been a pillow. Was he in someone's home? The door of the room was closed, and save for a dresser and a few drawers the room was bare.  
How had he gotten here? Why was he even alive? He tried to move but the moment he made an attempt to sit up pain shot through his midsection, keeping him down. So, it had all really happened. He had seen her, and she had not been pleased to see him.   
Doug sighed, some semblance of relief flooding through him that he had actually survived somehow. As much as he didn't mind before, he was happy to be alive. However, the moment of peace only lasted for a second. He hadn't been alone during that time. Someone was talking with him, staying with him, begging him to stay awake and live. It was a voice he had come to know well and trusted.  Turning his head, he carefully scanned the room for his faithful friend, but it was nowhere in sight. It couldn't be heard, either. The room was silent; there was no welcoming voice, no words of encouragement or glad tidings to see him. He was alone.  
The panic started to come back. Where was it? Where had it gone? Why wasn't his friend with him? Why had they been separated? He tried to sit up again, determined now to not be stopped by any amount of discomfort. He needed to find his friend.   
The pain rocked through him again, but he tried to ignore it. If he could just swing his legs over the side of the bed and stand, he would be set. Though the slightest movement of his legs nearly made him sick, and he was left clutching his stomach in some hopeless attempt to ease the hurt.   
It was becoming hard to breathe. The room seemed to be getting smaller, the walls quickly closing in and ready to smother him at any moment. He was going to die alone in this room; in a strange place he didn't know and in pain and so, so alone. His entire body began to tremble, and he tried to burrow his face into his hands, wishing for it all to stop. But it wouldn't end; there was a ringing in his ears that kept growing louder, and it felt as if the oxygen was being sucked out of his lungs. He couldn't stop shaking, why couldn't he just stop shaking? He was going to die, and he was going to do it alone.  
That was when firm hands grasped him, holding onto his shoulders before rubbing up and down his arms in an earnest manner. The sudden contact shocked him, making him shake more, but a soothing, sweet voice helped to slow his breathing.  
“It's okay, you're okay, I've got you,” it said, hands once again holding onto his shoulders, attempting to help stop his shaking. Doug didn't dare open his eyes; he didn't want to see what person his mind had conjured up in that moment. Instead he focused on listening to the voice, attempting to steady his breathing.  
“Breathe in and count to four,” the voice continued. “Then breathe out and count to eight. It's okay, just breathe.”  
He obediently followed her instructions, taking a shaky deep breath, trying his best to hold it for the correct amount of time before letting it out again. It was working, at least a little. He was still shaking but not quite as violently, and with each new breath he felt himself relax more and more. The voice continued encouraging him to breathe, patting his shoulder as the tremors slowly came to a stop. When he finally felt as if he'd gained some composure, he dared to open one eye for a glance at this new mirage.  
He had expected to see someone he knew, a coworker or old family member, something familiar that his brain would create in a time of distress. But the face he saw was unrecognizable. It was a woman, couldn't be any older than her mid thirties, with bright red hair tied back in a bun and a warm, gentle smile.  
He quickly closed his eye back, squeezing both eyelids shut tightly before opening his eyes again for another peek. She was still there, and looking rather confused by his actions.  
“Are you alright?” she asked, worry flashed across her face. Though he supposed she already knew the answer; he could hardly be considered 'alright'.  
He shook his head, attempting to back up away from her, but not managing to move himself very far.  
“Don't be afraid, I'm not trying to hurt you,” she attempted to assure him. “I found you out in the field a couple mornings ago. You nearly died. You're in my home now; a doctor will come by soon to check up on you again.”  
Doug continued shaking his head, trying to follow her words but not making much sense of them. Who was she? Why had she brought him here? A couple mornings ago? How long had he been unconscious? Had she drugged him to keep him asleep? And who was this doctor checking up on him? There were too many unpleasant possibilities running through his head, too many chances for danger, and he was trapped here, unable to fight against it. He wanted to crawl under the bed and hide, but the woman had him cornered, and he was in no condition to fight against her. Panic threatened to envelope him again, but he managed to keep his breathing steady, and only suffered a slight shaking in his hands.  
“It's okay, we just want to help,” the woman continued. “Can you tell me your name?”  
He shook his head again, more intently this time. Maybe if he covered his eyes she would go away? She would stop existing if he could stop seeing her, right?  
“My name is Mel,” she said, holding out a hand in introduction. “It's a pleasure to meet you.”  
He didn't respond, only staring at her extended hand instead, which he made no move to shake. He kept his hands by his face, ready to protect himself if any sudden harm came towards him.  
“You don't have to speak if you aren't ready, that's okay,” the woman, Mel, continued. “But I suggest you lie back down. You're still healing, and too much movement could reopen your wounds. Medical attention is scarce here, so we have to conserve every little bit we can get.”  
Doug didn't make any move to lay back down, instead trying to pull his legs up close to his chest in attempt to curl into a ball. The less of him she could see the better.  
“You're going to hurt yourself that way,” she cautioned, worry returning to her voice. “You're clearly disoriented and afraid; is there anything I can do to help put your mind at ease?”  
He debated her words for a while, his thoughts immediately returning to the absence of a certain presence in the room; an absence he wasn't ready to accept.  
“Where is it?” he asked quietly, his voice hoarse and barely audible.  
“Where is what?” Mel asked, the confusion evident on her face.  
He took a breath, looking around the room carefully, as if making sure no one else was around to hear him speak. “The cube,” he eventually said, still barely above a whisper.  
Mel's eyes widened a bit before she dropped her gaze, biting her lower lip and taking a moment to consider her response.  
“I left it,” she admitted. “I wasn't able to bring it back with me.”  
His face fell, feeling as if she just told him his best friend had been killed, which wasn't far off from the truth in his mind.   
“It should still be there,” she added quickly. “I can try and bring it back if that would help?”  
For a moment his face lit up again, but he quickly averted his gaze from her, not wanting to give into the hope. He gave her a small nod in answer, deciding it was worth trying rather than doing nothing at all.  
“I'll go bring it back, but you have to promise to stay in this spot, okay?” she told him, a stern look coming over her face, one that was almost enough to scare him into submission. He nodded again, struggling to not cover his face with his hands.  
“The doctor might come by while I'm gone, will you be okay with that?” she asked, getting to her feet. He immediately shook his head, dreading the thought of having to meet with another person so soon after meeting this one. He still wasn't convinced she was even real, but the longer time went on the more he was willing to believe this wasn't a hallucination.   
“He's just going to check that you don't have an infection and are healing properly, and hopefully give you some medicine for the pain,” Mel assured him. “He's very nice; there's nothing to worry about.”  
He didn't believe that to be true, but attempted a small nod all the same. When she appeared to be satisfied with his response, Mel left the room and closed the door behind her. As soon as he heard another door close, presumably the front door of her home, he tried to once again get up from the bed. However, just as last time, he had little luck with such an endeavor. Standing wasn't possible just yet, not without a chance of reopening whatever wounds he sustained.   
In that moment, the memories of what happened came flooding back. He had just escaped, finally released from his dark prison for so many years. He walked for what felt like miles, until like a dream he came face to face with her.   
It was clear she hadn't expected to run into another person. The shock on her face was evidence enough of that. What she was doing in that field to begin with, he couldn't understand. Had she only just escaped as well? No, she was wearing new clothes, and carried a weapon by her side. Was she on her way to returning? No, that couldn't be possible. Whatever her reasoning, he would never know. Whatever she had intended to do, it all came to a stop when she saw him.  
It only took a quick glance for the realization to hit. He was still wearing his lab coat at the time, after all. The logo had long since been torn out, but between his attire and the cube on his back, it was obvious where he came from. He had almost called out to her, almost smiled at the sight of seeing her alive and well. But he never got the chance.  
It happened faster than he could register. She was upon him in a moment, weapon drawn and pointed threateningly at his weak frame. He didn't even put up his arms to protect himself. He just stood there, transfixed by the sight of her, willing to let her do whatever she wanted to him. After the hell he put her through, why should he stop her from having her way with him?  
It was over in three moments, three painful moments. He barely even cried out, too shocked to react. Had he really been so content to die?  
He shook his head, trying to shake the memory away. He didn't want to think anymore, he didn't want to be awake. There was too much happening at once, too many things to process. And the ache was only making matters worse. Carefully, he tried to lie back down, wanting nothing more than to be under again. The world could melt away for all he cared, he just needed rest.

Rest didn't come. Instead a very old, very irritable man with needles and other cold metal tools to poke and prod him with came after an hour of lying restless. The doctor was a terrifying enough sight on his own, but when he started getting close in an attempt to change his bandages Doug nearly kicked the doctor in his panic. It took several minutes of shouting and poking before he finally gave in and let the doctor do his work.   
After the bandages were changed, a long needle attached to a syringe filled with a mysterious fluid emerged from somewhere in the doctor's coat, and it took every ounce of strength for Doug to not attack the doctor then and there when the old man tried to administer the medicine into his system.   
Only then did sleep finally come, and in the brief moments before the darkness overtook him, he was certain the doctor had poisoned him and he, in fact, was going to die. But instead he drifted into a restful sleep, the pain finally subduing to a barely noticeable throb. When he finally woke, the doctor was gone and the light streaming in through the window was coming in from a different angle.  
 _You slept through the night_ , a familiar voice spoke.   
Doug turned his head quickly to the side, the sight of his friend sitting in the corner immediately filling him with relief.  
“You're back,” he said, a smile breaking out across his face.  
 _That woman left me_ , the cube said, sounding rather angry about the whole ordeal.   
“But she brought you back,” he told it, feeling a small amount of gratitude towards the woman.   
The cube made a huffing sound in response. It was clear it was still rather offended, but it would get over it eventually. For now, he just wanted to relish the moment of happiness their reunion brought him. Perhaps he would be able to thank the woman later when she returned?  
She must be real, then. So must have that doctor, as well as this room. As well as her. He had really escaped, he was really somehow still alive. It was almost too much to believe, but here he was, definitely worse for wear, but alive nonetheless. And there was a whole world out there for him to see, a world without gray walls and living constructs ready to kill him at any moment. Instead, there was sunlight, and people, and all sorts of new dangers a wide world brought with it.  
The peace only lasted for a moment, replaced by a new level of terror. He was alive, but now he had to live.


	2. Chapter Two

The doctor didn't return the next day.  
Instead, Doug was woken by an overly cheery Mel leaning over his bed with a smile that he was certain meant she was planning something sinister. When he tried to scramble away, allowing for a new wave of pain to shoot up from his stomach, the woman quickly placed her hands on his shoulders to try to keep him from moving any further.  
“I'm telling you, you're going to hurt yourself if you keep jerking around like that,” Mel warned him, her smile only wavering slightly.   
He tried to break free of her grip but only managed to create another pang of pain that left him nearly doubling over. As gently as she could while still being forceful, Mel pushed him back down into a lying position. He curled up on his side as much as he was able, trying to protect his center from any new threats. That smile she wore was too uncanny. It didn't matter that she had brought him the cube, he didn't trust this woman.  
“When you're crying because the doctor has to stitch you up again, don't complain to me,” Mel told him, wagging a disapproving finger at his face. Doug only responded by attempting to curl up tighter, burying his face into his knees.  
“Well, this won't do,” the woman went on, backing away from the bed and, from what Doug could tell by sound alone, picked up something from the bedside table. It made a faint clanking sound, like glass, but slightly muffled.  
“You can't eat if you're hiding your face like that,” Mel explained, and at the mention of food Doug slowly poked his head back out. She was holding a bowl of  what looked like rice, a spoon in her other hand.  
His mouth watered. How long had it been since his last meal? It must have been days, if not a week. Warily, he uncurled himself and tried to sit up, though not without a bit of difficulty.   
Mel handed him the bowl and spoon and Doug immediately set about shoveling as much rice into his mouth as he could fit. He barely took pauses to chew or even breathe, and his hands were still steadily shaking. Deciding that this was not the safest situation, Mel forcibly took the bowl and spoon away from him, leaving a very sad and confused looking Doug to stare at her in betrayal.  
“You're going to choke that way,” Mel said, handing him a cup of water. “Drink slowly.”  
He obeyed for the first few seconds, taking an easy sip, but as soon as the water went smoothly down his throat he gulped the rest of it as quickly as he could. He hadn't noticed how dry his throat had been, and having water for a change was the biggest relief he had felt in a long time.  
Mel sighed, clearly disapproving. “You don't listen very well, do you?”  
Doug made no response, only eyeing the still full bowl of rice greedily.   
Mel scooped some onto the spoon, holding it out for him. “Open wide,” she said, giggling when she noticed the face he was making. He was clearly offended by the treatment but obeyed nonetheless. Food was food, after all.  
She fed him the rest of the rice, taking agonizingly slow in Doug's mind, and when she finished she promptly got up to refill the cup of water. Rice was never an exciting food to him, but in that moment he wasn't sure he had ever tasted anything so good. It was the freshest thing he had eaten in years, and it felt satisfying to eat a million of something.   
Mel returned with more water, and this time Doug obediently took small sips, savoring the water instead of gulping it down as fast as possible. When he was finished Mel took the cup and placed it on the bedside table, to be refilled later. She was sitting in an old wooden chair pressed against the bedroom wall, sitting less than a foot away from the side of the bed. The room itself was very small, barely large enough for the single bed, table, and dresser in the far corner of the room. The cube sat on the other side of the bed, squished between it and the wall. It was all around very tight, but fairly large in comparison to the rooms he had been living in these past years, if you could have even called them rooms at all.  
The woman crossed her arms, her usual pleasant smile now replaced with a more determined expression. It was almost frightening. Doug did his best to scoot away as far from her as possible, feeling the urge to curl up into a ball again in an attempt to hide from her gaze.  
“Are you ready to talk yet?” Mel asked. Her voice was more serious now, intent even. It only made Doug more wary to answer her, and he shook his head in response.  
“I know you can talk,” the woman went on. “You had no trouble yesterday. I think after the help I gave you an explanation is the least that I deserve.” Her words didn't sound threatening, or even angry, but more matter of fact. There was a patience to her voice as well, and it did help Doug feel slightly more at ease, if only a little.  
“Let's start with your name,” Mel said. “Just a name. It only has to be your first name, if you want.”  
“Doug,” he said quietly, following her suggestion and only giving his first name. He wasn't keen on sharing his surname with anyone when he didn't have to, especially with strangers.  
“Well that's a nice name,” she said, a small smile coming back to her face. “Can you tell me what happened to you, Doug?”  
He shook his head quickly, unwilling to bring that particular memory back up. Not yet, if at all.  
“Alright, that's okay,” Mel assured him. “Maybe we could start with where you came from? There aren't many towns around this area. You must have traveled far. Do you have any family looking for you?”  
Doug shook his head again. No, he assumed any family he had died a long time ago. He wasn't sure how much time had passed, but from the state of the facility that he woke up in he could guess it had been more than just a few years.  
“Would it help if I told you where I'm from?” Mel asked, now giving him an encouraging smile.   
He looked at her cautiously, doubting that would actually help to alleviate any of his anxieties. He had no interests in speaking of Aperture. That place was better left forgotten, to rot underground in hell where it belonged.   
“Though I doubt you would believe me if I told you,” Mel went on, looking off to the side as if recalling a memory. “I can barely believe it myself.”  
Doug was giving her a curious look now. He doubted that anything she had to say would be as unbelievable as the things he had seen, but then again, he had no idea what sort of state the world was in now. Perhaps it was worse up here than it had been down there?  
“Would you believe me if I told you I was from the 1950s?” the woman asked, almost laughing at her own statement.  
Doug's expression had changed from curiosity to bewilderment. If she didn't have his attention before, she certainly had it now.   
“It's true,” Mel went on, her voice growing softer. “I'm over one hundred years old, in a manner of speaking.” She waited for Doug to make some sort of response, but he remained silent, listening intently. “In actuality I'm only thirty-four,” she continued. “But thanks to an . . . unfortunate situation, I found myself here, one hundred years in the future.”  
One hundred years? Had it really only been around fifty years since he went under? Something must have happened, something terrible for the facility to have been brought to the state it was in when he woke up.   
“How?” he asked, the word barely coming out clearly between his hoarse voice and shock.   
“Would you believe me if I told you I was a science experiment?” she asked, laughing again. “Or at least of sorts. It was meant to be a simple test, I was only supposed to be asleep for a few hours. When I woke up, however, the world had changed, and one hundred years had passed.”  
Doug's heart nearly stopped. She didn't mean . . . no, it couldn't be possible.  
Mel gave him a knowing look. “You wouldn't happen to know anything about that, would you?”  
Instinctively, he looked down at his shirt, to where the Aperture logo had long since been torn away, only to realize his coat was gone. He hadn't had the chance to notice, but he was only in his button down shirt and slacks. Both his lab coat and shoes were missing.  
“Your coat is being mended,” Mel explained. “It was starting to come apart in some places, but I don't see the sense in throwing away good clothes if they can still get use out of them. Where did you find that coat?”  
Doug didn't answer. Instead, he wrapped his arms tightly around himself, suddenly feeling very vulnerable. She couldn't possibly be from that place. He would have known if someone else was there, wouldn't he?  
“Did you work there?” Mel asked, not needing to say the name. She knew he knew perfectly well what she was talking about.  
Doug nodded, looking down at the sheets instead of meeting her eyes.  
“I didn't know anyone else was alive in there,” she said quietly, almost remorseful. “What happened?”  
Doug held himself tighter, almost feeling sick. He didn't to talk about it, didn't want to remember it. But he also needed to know. Who was she really? How was she possibly from Aperture? And how on earth did she escape?  
“How much do you know?” he eventually asked, looking up to face her.  
Mel thought for a moment. “Not much,” she admitted. “Everyone died, I know that. Machines have taken over the place. One even helped me escape.” Her voice trailed off, as if she were lost in the memory. “Just as I was about to leave, we found something. The core that helped me seemed . . . scared of it. I'm afraid we might have allowed something dangerous to be woken. This was two years ago.”  
Doug's felt his heart stop for a moment. Something dangerous? He was certain he knew what she was talking about. “What do you mean?” he asked.  
“Well, there was a security machine,” Mel explained. “It seemed to think me and the core that helped me were responsible for everyone's death. So we shut it down. Unfortunately, it was also trying to stop that other thing, the one that the core was so afraid of. He seemed to think that by stopping the security machine, we had indirectly allowed for that other thing to stay alive. From how my friend reacted, I get the feeling it was something better left dead.”  
Doug nodded. From the sound of it, she wasn't the one responsible for reactivating the AI, so it had to have been someone else. Perhaps it was her? No, he wasn't going to think about that. He wasn't going to think about her.  
“Do you know about it?” Mel asked, interrupting his thoughts.  
He nodded again. “I helped build it,” he admitted.   
Mel bit her lip. “Could you explain? I want to know what happened since I fell asleep.”  
Doug looked back down at the sheets. He didn't want to talk about it, didn't want to relive it. Though now that she told him what she knew it almost felt like an obligation to repay her.  
He kept it as short as possible, only explaining the essentials. He told her that he worked there during the early 2000s, and gave a brief synopsis on his involvement in the GLaDOS project and work on the ASHPD. He had expected her to be amazed and confused by the mention of the portal gun, but she explained that she had already encountered an earlier model herself. In as few sentences as he could, he told her about the takeover, and how eventually a test subject took her down. When it came to speaking about the test subject, he left it anonymous, giving neither information about her nor his involvement in her being chosen as the first test subject to use. As for what happened afterwards, all he told her was that he was shot and only had enough energy to get himself to a cryogenic storage chamber. From there, he simply woke up one day and managed to get himself out.  
It was clear he wasn't telling her everything. Most of his story had obvious holes, and he barely met her eyes all throughout his explanation. But Mel didn't press him for further questions. Why, he didn't know, but he was grateful.  
“I don't know too much of what happened out here,” Mel explained once he finished his story. “Just the basics. Alien takeover, the rise of a resistance, can you believe it? Just like out of a science fiction book.”  
Doug stared at her in shock. He was certain she was pulling his leg but he really had no evidence to prove that. For now, he decided not to worry about it. What he had already learned that day was overwhelming enough without added information to give him even more anxiety.   
“I guess we're both out of place in this world, huh,” Mel said after a moment of silence.  
Doug nodded in agreement. He was starting to feel sluggish, most definitely from having eaten so much for the first time in years. He tried to lie back down, realizing how sore he had gotten from sitting in the same position for so long. Mel helped him, straightening out the sheets and blankets and pulling them over him, gently tucking him in. It was strange having someone looking after him in this way, it almost felt maternal. He still felt a twinge of distrust, but much of it had been alleviated through their conversation.   
_She seems nice_ , the cube remarked once Mel had left the room and closed the door behind her.  
“I thought you didn't like her,” Doug remarked quietly.  
 _I can change my mind, you know_ , the cube retorted. _You aren't alone anymore. That has to count for something._  
Doug thought about that. He had been alone, minus the cube, but even with that it didn't completely replace the need for fellow human contact. He wanted to be happy, to feel some sense of relief with his situation. But it didn't come. He might be free of the facility, but he was now trapped in a strange world that he no longer understood. And there was still the matter of her. She was still out there. The thought of her, of meeting those eyes again, sent chills down his spine.  
He fell asleep with that image in his mind, tainted only by splotches of red.

When he woke up the world was dark and completely silent. The room felt cold, almost sterile, and there was a metallic smell to the air.  
He was back.  
Panic began to rise in his chest. He tried to move, but found it impossible. Something was wrapped tightly around him, completely constricting any movement he might have been able to make. In the distance he could see red pinpricks of light. They almost seemed to blink, twitching from side to side, searching. They were going to spot him at any moment. They were going to find him and he couldn't move, couldn't do a thing to stop it.   
He was going to die.  
Where was the cube? He couldn't hear its voice at all. Everything was so silent, the only sound he heard was his own breathing and rapid heartbeat. The red glowing lights seemed to only grow brighter in the distance, coming closer. He tried desperately to move, to free his arms, anything. He tried jerking his leg, which only resulted in a sharp pain from his center. Why couldn't he move?  
“No no no no,” he muttered, watching in vain as the lights drew closer. He continued to struggle but it made no difference. He was trapped. He was going to die.  
Something grabbed him, shaking him by the shoulders. He tried to fight against it but it only gripped harder. Finally, his eyes shot open and he found himself face to face with a very worried Mel.  
The world was still dark, but not entirely. There was dim light coming from his side, which upon further inspection he saw to be a lamp. He still couldn't move, and discovered that he managed to get himself tangled in the blankets. He felt damp all over, covered in sweat from the stress of the nightmare. That's right, it had only been a nightmare. Nothing more than a bad dream.  
“Hold still,” Mel instructed, carefully attempting to untangle the blankets from around him. When he was free of them, he immediately sat up and scooted back as far away from her as he could.  
“For the last time, you've got to stop jumping around like that,” Mel chastised him, dropping the blankets. She reached out and touched his forehead with the back of her hand, causing him to flinch.  
“You're burning up” she noted, a look of concern coming across her face. “How are you feeling?”  
He didn't have to answer that. His expression alone stated clearly that he was not feeling well. Though, he didn't feel sick, if that's what she had been asking. Panicked, yes, but not sick.  
“You need to cool off,” Mel decided. “Come on, give me your arm.”  
Confused, Doug kept his arms wrapped tightly around him, not trusting where she was going with this.  
“If you don't give me your arm, I'll get the water sprayer,” Mel told him, holding out her hand.  
Not liking the sound of that at all, Doug slowly relented his arm, which Mel gently took and bent over so he could wrap it around her shoulders.  
It took a bit of maneuvering, and a good deal of discomfort, but Mel slowly helped Doug get to his feet. He was shaky and completely unable to stay up on his own without Mel's support, but he was able to hobble beside her out of the room and down the hallway. Luckily, they were both rather small and could fit side by side in the cramped space.   
The bathroom was next to the room Doug had been staying in, and it was just as small as he would have expected. He was surprised a toilet, sink, and bath could manage to fit into the tiny space, yet they did, and he and Mel both managed to fit themselves into it as well. However, there wasn't much room for actual movement.  
Mel helped Doug sit down on the side of the bathtub and began to busy herself with turning on the water, adjusting the temperature so that it was pleasantly warm. All the while Doug watched with suspicious eyes, not liking where this was going.  
Mel straightened up, turning her attention back to Doug. “Get undressed,” she said, in the most deadpan tone he had ever heard.  
Doug just stared at her in bewilderment. “Excuse me?” he asked.  
“You need a bath; now, are you going to get undressed, or do you need help?” Mel asked, her words all business.   
Doug was horrified. “No,” he said, crossing his arms tightly around his center.  
“No offense, but you smell really funny, and I don't want to  think about how long it's been since you've properly bathed,” Mel stated. “Now don't be a child and get undressed.”  
What happened next Doug tried to block from his memory forever. Mel was completely insistent, and he was powerless to actually fight against her. In no time she had him completely undressed, sitting in the bathtub with his knees pulled up to his chest as much as he could for some last shred of modesty, and a deep scowl on his face.  
His wounds were wrapped tightly with bandages, but Mel still tried to be careful as she took the movable shower head and began rinsing him down. A fine layer of dirt and grime immediately began to wash away, however underneath was yet another layer of grime that would require some amount of scrubbing. Doug could take care of most of it himself, but Mel insisted on helping him with reaching the places that would be too difficult with his injury. It was humiliating at best, but he didn't dare argue with her. She was holding the shower head, after all.  
Washing his hair was an entire new challenge in itself. Not only was it long and unruly, but it was horribly knotted and nearly matted in some areas closer to his neck. Since he wasn't allowed to lift his arms any higher than above his chest, Mel took charge of the hair washing.  
After the initial discomfort, it almost became soothing. While the whole situation still rang a note of 'extreme danger' finally getting a wash after so long of being covered in layers of grime and sweat was relieving. It was unnaturally vulnerable, but he knew it would feel worth it in the end.  
“Exactly how long has it been since you've washed your hair?” Mel questioned, yanking at a particularly difficult tangle, causing Doug to yelp. “Sorry,” she apologized.  
Doug shrugged, having to think about it for a moment. “Years,” he decided, unable to discern anything more exact. It was too late at night for him to be thinking so much, let alone taking an aggressive shower.  
“My hair wasn't in this state when I woke up,” Mel commented. “Then again, from my perspective it was only a few hours that I spent in that place.”  
Doug would have nodded as response, but Mel was very insistent on him holding his head perfectly still while she worked.   
“That core,” Doug said, mostly thinking out loud and hardly realizing he had actually vocalized the words. “Who was it?”  
“He was a maintenance core,” Mel answered simply, though there was a note of affection in her voice. “He called himself Virgil.”  
Doug thought about that. He had heard towards the end about some of the cores creating names for themselves, as to why he couldn't say. He didn't work with the creation of the personality cores directly, only minor configuring on the ones specific to the GLaDOS project, and even then it was just to help with minor lines of code. He understood little about the cores themselves, or why one would have bothered to help a human escape. They weren't ever supposed to have that much intelligence, but knowing Aperture, he could only imagine what secrets surrounded their creation.  
“I think you managed to meet the only nice thing in that place,” Doug mumbled.  
“You didn't meet anything nice?” Mel asked, sounding genuinely concerned.  
Doug shook his head (earning himself a reprimanding pat from Mel).  
“I suppose I got lucky, then,” Mel said, grabbing the shower head and beginning to rinse out the shampoo. “Close your eyes.”  
Doug listened obediently, but Mel still held her hand over his eyes for extra protection. The rest of the bath went on in silence, Mel finally managing to untangle most of his hair after a great amount of effort and yanking on her part. When she was done, she grabbed him a towel and helped him dry off his hair, leaving the rest to him for modesty sake. While he finished up Mel went to retrieve his clothes, having went out and found him a decent pair of pajamas the day before. They were a little big, but luckily the pants had a drawstring and could be adjusted to fit. They made their way back to the room, where Mel carefully helped Doug back into bed.   
“I'll have to clean these sheets tomorrow,” Mel informed him, pulling the blankets back over him once more. “Do you think you will be game for getting up tomorrow?”  
Doug responded with a nod. It still hurt to move, but the idea of getting out of this tiny room was impossible to pass up. Even the shower was a good change of pace, despite the great amount of discomfort that came with it.   
“Good,” Mel said, patting his head. Doug made a face at that. He wasn't sure he liked how she treated him like a child. It was patronizing, but he tried not to make too much of a fuss. She at least seemed to mean well.  
“Try and get some sleep,” she said before turning off the lamp and leaving the room, quietly shutting the door behind her. Doug almost asked for her to leave it open, but when the words were finally ready to come out he could already hear her walking down the hallway.   
_You look different_ , the cube inquired.  
“I bathed,” Doug explained quietly.  
 _Bathed?_ The cube asked, clearly perplexed.  
“It's cleaning yourself with water,” Doug told it. “Maybe we can bathe you next?”  
He could sense the cube shuddering. _No thanks. Water isn't safe._  
Doug chuckled at that. He had held the same opinion only an hour ago. But it was true, he did feel much better after showering. He hadn't felt this way in years, and it was like finally getting to feel like his old self again.  
To feel human again.


	3. Chapter Three

Doug adamantly decided that he did not like the sun.  
The next morning, Mel came to his room to wake him up so he could move to the living room. The moving part itself wasn't enjoyable, but Doug was looking forward to a new atmosphere. He was beginning to feel horribly trapped in that small room, and getting to do something besides lie in bed all day was an exciting change.   
However, unlike his small room, the living room contained several windows, all of which were open, pouring in sunlight from seemingly every angle. The fresh air was lovely and warm, a gentle breeze passing through the room and bringing in the pleasant smell of grass from outside. Doug breathed it all in, wanting to get as much of the taste of fresh air as he could. It was absolutely exquisite.   
The sun itself, however, was less pleasant. It shone too brightly, too warmly, and Doug found himself no longer able to enjoy the fresh air, instead hiding under the blanket Mel had given him as he lie on the couch (a lumpy old thing, but comfortable enough all the same).   
Mel was busying herself with cleaning, going from room to room with a broom, sweeping away dust and pollen that had collected on the floor, and dusting off any flat surfaces. Noticing Doug's clear discomfort, Mel sighed and pulled the curtains closed, darkening the room at least slightly. It was better, and he no longer felt as if he was going to go blind, but he almost missed his dark room with its single window and closed blinds.   
It felt useless to lie there, watching as another person worked tirelessly. This woman was entirely too well-to-do and kind. After sweeping the floor she even brought the cube into the room for him. What was her ploy? Her purpose for all of this, for helping him? She must have had something to gain from it all. He wanted to ask why, to question her, but his drowsiness steadily returned, and before he knew it he was once again drifting off to sleep.  
When he finally woke again, he was glad to see that it was still daylight and he hadn't slept another whole day away. The sun was a little lower in the sky, but it couldn't be any later than four in the afternoon, if that. Carefully, he sat up, groaning as his muscles protested from the movement. The home was silent. There were no noises of the woman running around, going in and out of rooms and humming to herself as she cleaned. It was completely quiet.  
“Hello?” he called softy, followed by a rather nasty cough. His throat had gone dry again; the cup of water he had from that morning sat empty on the coffee table.   
There was no reply. He tried calling out again, a little louder this time, only achieving the same result of a cough followed by silence.   
_She must have gone out,_ the cube mused.  
Doug nodded in understanding. That was fine; he could handle being on his own for a while. He was incredibly hungry, though, and in need of another glass of water. Perhaps he could make do on his own?  
Holding onto the side of the couch, Doug slowly pushed himself into a standing position. His legs protested against him, and his stomach felt far too stretched, as if it were going to split open any moment.  
 _What are you doing?_ The cube cried.  
“I've got to try walking on my own at some point,” Doug argued, slowly making his way to the wall to use it as support.  
 _You're going to hurt yourself!_ The cube protested.  
“I'll be fine; it isn't much worse than before,” Doug reminded it.  
It took him a few minutes to actually make it to the kitchen, and when he did he was breathing heavy and exhausted. However, making it there was only part of the challenge. He realized he had left the cup in the other room, and would now either have to walk all the way back, or find a new cup. He settled fort he latter.  
It felt invasive to go through her cupboards, but the guilt wasn't enough to actually make him stop. Finding a cup wasn't terribly difficult, but lifting his arms to reach one, on the other hand, was indeed a challenge. However, the water he rewarded himself with was enough to make it worth the effort. After his thirst was quenched, Doug decided to investigate the refrigerator. There wasn't much inside, just a lot of tubs of what looked like yogurt and a couple blocks of cheese. He also saw some vegetables in the drawers, carrots and peppers alike.   
It was all very tempting, and blissfully not out of a can. Knowing he was likely going to be reprimanded for taking food without asking, he reached in and grabbed one tub of yogurt and the bag of carrots. Just as slowly as he made his way there, he inched his way to the kitchen table, sitting down and pulling open the lid of the yogurt.  
He didn't bother with silverware, instead using the carrots to scoop it out. He had one time found canned carrots in an old store room in Aperture, but they didn't even come close to comparing to the taste of fresh ones. Mixed with the yogurt, it was almost too sweet, but the luxury of food was too good to pass up, no matter the taste.   
In hindsight, he probably should not have eaten as much yogurt as he did. It was dairy, after all, and the last time he had any dairy products was . . . well, it was quite some time. He should have been worried, but any concerns he pushed to the back of his mind, instead allowing himself to indulge in the taste of vanilla for the first time in years.  
“What are you doing?!”  
Doug froze, a yogurt covered carrot halfway in his mouth. He turned his head slowly, meeting a very disapproving glare from Mel. He hadn't heard her come in; how sneaky was this woman?  
Without waiting a moment longer, he popped the rest of the carrot into his mouth, silently hoping she hadn't actually seen it. It was wishful thinking on his part; she very clearly could see what he was doing.  
Mel marched into the kitchen, grabbing the tub of yogurt and pulling it away from him, Doug watching it go with disappointment.   
“You can't eat yogurt, it's not good for your stomach right now,” Mel chastised him. “And how did you even get in here?”  
“I walked,” he answered smartly, swallowing hard.  
“Are you trying to hurt yourself?” Mel asked, exasperated. She took a deep breath, calming herself. “I was only stepping out for a few minutes. Please wait for me next time.”  
Doug looked down at the table, feeling a little ashamed. It was like being scolded by a parent, one he didn't want to disappoint.  
Mel helped him back to the living room, making much better time than he did on his own. However, it only took a few minutes of resting before they needed to move again. The nausea hit fast, and it took everything Doug had not to get sick on Mel's recently cleaned floor. As quickly as they could, Mel helped him get to the bathroom, easing him to the floor with his head hanging over the toilet.  
It was horrible, and the convulsions only made the pain in his stomach worse. Mel stayed by his side, rubbing his back soothingly and brushing his long hair out of his face. He decided then that he never wanted to eat yogurt again.  
When his stomach had been thoroughly emptied, Mel helped him clean up, giving him a fresh toothbrush so that he could finally brush his teeth for the first time in ages. Out of all the things he had missed the most since his exile in Aperture, brushing his teeth had been nearly at the top of the list, along with clean clothes and decent meals. And, of course, not living under the constant threat of death.  
It was back to the living room after that, back to lying down and hoping to feel some shred of comfort. Mel sat in the chair next to him, resting as well and reading a book. The afternoon air was still warm, but it wasn't unpleasant. The silence was relaxing, and Doug could have almost described the feeling as being safe.   
The rest of the day wore on slowly, peacefully. Mel made them both dinner, rice and carrots for Doug, while she had meat and cooked vegetables. Doug had to admit he was jealous of her diet, but wasn't willing to go through his earlier adventure again. After dinner Mel made him brush his teeth again before returning to the living room where they sat in their respective places, Mel picking up her book again and going quiet.  
The doctor came by again later in the evening, changing the bandages and giving him more pain medicine. Doug decided he did not like this doctor, as the old man was far too abrasive and rough with him, and always had a sour expression on his face. He was grateful for the medicine, but that was the only good thing he could think about seeing the doctor.  
He had never been fond of them in the past. Some things apparently don't change.  
After the doctor left, Mel decided it was time for bed and helped Doug back to his room. Was it his room? How long was he going to be staying in this place? Was it just until he got better and then he would be kicked onto the curb, expected to make his own way? It wouldn't be a surprise, and he wouldn't blame Mel for it if that's what she decided, but the thought did make him anxious nonetheless.  
Sleep came easy that night, most likely because of the pain medicine. It was a dreamless, blissful sleep that lasted all the way until morning. It was probably the best night of sleep he had gotten since escaping.

―

The next morning went by without any mishaps. Doug spent most of the day in the living room, reading one of the books he found in Mel's home. It was a collection of works by Shakespeare, and while he had never cared much for reading plays, it was nice to get lost in a story for once. However he couldn't read all day. Mel regularly interrupted him for meal times, which still consisted of rice and raw vegetables. She also tried having him walk around the room a couple of times, as the doctor had suggested he try and get in a small amount of physical activity for the sake of his muscles. That part was less enjoyable, but it at least felt good to get in some movement. His legs were still horribly sore, and his right one ached a great deal more than it should have, but he supposed it was worth it in the end.  
As nice as it was to rest indoors, Doug couldn't help but wonder about the outside. He hadn't seen much on his trek after escaping Aperture. Only the wheat field and a forest off to his right. He hadn't seen any civilization or other people besides Mel and the doctor. Not that he was keen on being around other people, but his curiosity did tend to roam to the possibilities of the new world. He still wasn't sure he believed what Mel had told him about what happened since the facility takeover, but he also couldn't say for certain that she had been lying.   
He had tried looking out the windows, but saw nothing more than trees, a cracked road, and sparse buildings. He did discover, though, that they were in some sort of apartment building and were on the third floor. Mel explained that they were on the edge of town and that there were more buildings farther in, but between the trees and the position of the windows Doug couldn't see any evidence of this.   
In the mid afternoon, Mel made Doug leave the couch and ushered him back to the bathroom. Fearful for another forced shower, Doug tried to pull away from her, but to no success.  
“I'm not going to do anything sinister,” Mel tried to assure him, pushing him down to sit on the edge of the bath tub as she did the other night. Her words were anything but assuring, and Doug held his arms tightly around himself, keeping his shirt firmly in place.  
Mel left the bathroom and came back a moment later with a towel, which she threw around his shoulders without any explanation as to why. Before Doug could formulate a question, Mel began pulling things out of one of the cabinet shelves behind the mirror over the sink. Taking a minute to discern what was in her hands, Doug realized she was holding a very sharp looking pair of scissors.  
He nearly fell over into the tub at the sight of them, scooting as close to the wall and away from her as he could. What was she planning to do with those?  
“You need a haircut,” Mel explained, snapping the scissors open and shut in what Doug took to be a threat.  
“No,” he said weakly, still trying to scoot closer to the wall, wishing he could melt into it.  
“Your hair is constantly in your face and you're going to have trouble seeing,” Mel went on, advancing upon him.  
Doug immediately put up his arms over his head in a meek attempt to protect himself. Mel tried to push his arms away as gently as possible but he was having none of it. When she got particularly close to his face with the scissors he kicked out instinctively, hitting her hard in the shin.   
“Ow! Stop that!” Mel commanded, grabbing one of his arms and forcing it down.  
As a final resort, Doug snapped at her hand, biting down harder than he intended, causing her to recoil.  
Mel pulled back, holding her hand to her chest and looking down at Doug in pure shock. She looked at her hand, which surprisingly had started bleeding. “Did you . . . did you just _bite me?_ ” she asked, incredulous.  
Doug didn't respond. He was a bit in shock himself, though he didn't totally regret it. She was holding sharp objects much to close to his face for his liking, of course he was going to fight back!  
Mel stormed out of the bathroom, slamming the scissors down on the side of the sink on her way out. Doug was afraid he had seriously offended her, and she was on her way to call whatever form of police they had now. But Mel returned to the room a few moments later, holding a clear bottle with a spray nozzle at the top, and promptly sprayed him a good four times.  
Doug flinched, nearly falling back into the tub. Once she stopped he turned and stared up at her, his turn to now be shocked.  
“Is that a spray bottle . . . for cats?” he asked, equally confused and offended.  
“If you're going to act like a cat and bite people then I'm going to treat you like one,” Mel snapped, giving him one final spray. He flinched again, holding up his hands to try and protect himself from the water.   
“You're the one attacking me with scissors!” he accused, raising his voice at her for the first time.  
“You need a haircut! Your hair is matted at the ends!” Mel argued back, raising her voice as well.  
“I've been fine without one for years now,” Doug pointed out, getting rather irritated with her.  
“You were living underground!” Mel said, exasperated. “You can't go around looking like some sewer rat now.”  
“I'm not a damned rat!” Doug yelled, slamming his fist down on the side of the tub. His outburst wasn't the smartest decision, however, as the movement shot a wave of pain up from his center, causing him to double over.   
Mel was silent, standing perfectly still as Doug tried to regain some stability in his breathing. Once the atmosphere seemed to settle, Mel lowered herself to her knees, kneeling in front of Doug. She put a hand on his shoulder, and he had half a mind to slap it away, but didn't have the energy to do so.  
“I'm sorry, that was uncalled for,” Mel apologized, her voice much quieter now.  
Doug didn't respond, instead focusing on his breathing. When he finally felt that he could breathe normally again, he slowly tried to sit back up, avoiding Mel's eyes the whole time.  
“I didn't mean to scare you,” Mel continued. “I just want to help.”  
“Why?” Doug asked, finally raising the question that had been nagging at his mind ever since he arrived in her care.  
“Because,” Mel began, biting her lip and seeming to think carefully about her next words. “When I escaped I was alone. I came here alone, confused, and terrified. No one bothered to help me, or cared to know where I came from. I was left to my own devices.” She paused, taking breath. “I don't want anyone else to go through that, especially if I can do something to help.”  
“You don't even know me,” Doug argued, wrapping his arms tightly around himself again.  
“That's okay,” Mel said, giving him a smile. “We can get to know each other. Should I start?”  
Doug looked off to the side, not answering her question.  
“Alright,” Mel said, taking his silence as a yes. “You already know my name. My favorite color is yellow, and I like afternoon strolls through the park. What are some things you like?”  
Doug still didn't answer. He didn't know what kind of game this was, but he wasn't sure he liked it. His mind told him he shouldn't trust her, that opening up in any way was just a recipe for danger. He shouldn't trust anyone anymore. He had trusted his coworkers, and they all had gotten themselves killed. He had trusted her, and she . . . the feeling wasn't shared. He had no reason to trust this complete stranger who picked him up off the side of the road. Just because they had both been a part of Aperture didn't mean he had any allegiance to her. He couldn't trust her, he wouldn't.  
But he was so lonely.  
“Vanilla,” he said, his mind's first thought going to food. “Fresh air. Being able to walk without assistance. Evening walks. My dog . . .” He paused, his mind wandering back to a time before Aperture for the first time in years. He hadn't allowed himself to think about anything from his life before. He only had time and energy to think about survival. Anything else was trivial and hazardous. But now? What was to stop him? He had a home, a half decent job, a dog who was excited to see him come home every night, a family he would call on occasion and see on holidays. It was all gone. Everything he had known, everything he had once enjoyed and loved, it was lost fifty years in the past.  
Did anyone look for him when he went missing?  
“Are you okay?” Mel asked. Doug hadn't realized but he had started to slump forward, his face angled firmly to the ground. He wasn't okay. Nothing was okay. He could feel his hands shaking; it always started in the hands. His breaths were coming out hitched, and he could feel his eyes growing damp. Why now? Of all the times for him to have a breakdown, why did it have to be here and now?  
Doug shook his head in answer to Mel's question, sniffling. He felt weak, he was always so weak. He couldn't even hold it together for a few days. After all those years of surviving and now that he was here, sitting in a bathroom with a complete stranger, asking him about his feelings, now he was going to lose it?  
Mel leaned forward, pulling him into a hug. He didn't have the energy to fight back, instead resting his head on her shoulder, trying to control the shaking that threatened to take over his whole body.   
“It'll be okay,” Mel assured him, for what felt like the millionth time since he had met her.   
“Everyone's gone,” he whispered, the realization of it all finally hitting him. “They're all gone.”  
“I know,” Mel said, rubbing the back of his head. “But it'll be okay. We'll get through this.”

―

What she said didn't resonate with him until later that night as she helped him into bed. She hadn't said that he would get through this, but that they both would. She said it had been two years since she escaped, but even now the pain of everyone she lost was still carried deep within her.  
Did Mel feel just as alone as he felt?  
“How did you do it?” Doug asked as Mel turned to leave the room.  
“Pardon?” she asked, turning back to face him.  
“Survive?”  
Mel didn't have to ask what he meant. She knew he wouldn't be talking about surviving Aperture, he had done it himself, after all. “I fought,” she answered. “Every day. I didn't stop fighting until I had made a place for myself in this world. Now that I have learned to survive, I don't have to fight anymore. I can just live.”  
Doug thought about her words as she turned off the light, leaving the door of his room open this time. It took him longer to fall asleep that night. There were too many thoughts spilling around inside of him.  
 _Have you decided what you think of her?_ The cube asked, sitting on the floor next to his bed.  
Doug thought about that for a moment, not wanting to answer too quickly without giving it proper thought.  
“I think,” he began, speaking softly. “She might be worth trusting.”  
The cube said nothing more the rest of the night.

―

Mel went out the next morning, leaving Doug in the apartment alone. He didn't mind it terribly, though if he wanted to get around he would have to do it on his own. His movements were getting better. Though walking was still painful, it was doable, even if it was slow. His right leg, however, had been giving him a lot of trouble, and Mel had insisted on letting the doctor know about it the next time he came around. Doug was against this idea, but Mel wouldn't be dissuaded.   
It was half passed noon, according to the clock on the wall. Mel had been gone only an hour, and said to expect her home sometime after noon. He was getting hungry, and there was nothing left in the fridge that he could yet eat, and he was forbidden from using the stove. Mel had gone out for the main purpose of buying more food, but he hadn't expected her to take this long. The walk into the main part of town must have been longer than he realized.   
To distract himself, he settled for continuing his reading in the Shakespeare book, starting on a play called Twelfth Night. It was fairly comedic, and a little ridiculous to him, but it was entertaining enough.   
Suddenly, there came a knock on the door. Doug nearly jumped with surprise, half expecting the doctor to suddenly barge in as he so rudely did every time he stopped by. But no one entered, and instead there was another, more insistent knock.  
 _Don't answer it,_ the cube cautioned.  
Doug had half a mind to agree with it, but part of him wondered if it could be something important for Mel, and felt an obligation to her to answer it. Carefully hoisting himself up, he slowly made his way to the door, earning another knock in the time he took.  
When he opened the door, Doug's heart stopped.  
It was her, holding a paper bag of what Doug didn't take the time to try and figure out. He was too busy staring up at her as she towered over him, silver gaze piercing through his core.  
It took a moment for it to register on her face who was standing before her. Her expression changed swiftly from confusion, to shock, to anger.  
The bag dropped from her hands, sending an assortment of tightly wrapped parcels scattering across the floor. Her hands were around his throat in an instant, slamming him back against the nearest wall. There was no time for him to react, to run away.  
All he could do was stare into her eyes and she squeezed the life out of his own.


	4. Chapter Four

Mel hadn't planned to be gone for long at all. They needed only a few groceries, and Mel wanted to find Doug a good pair of shoes, since the ones he had been wearing were more tape than shoe at this point. The market was a few blocks away from her apartment, near the center of the small town, whereas her home was planted along the outskirts. She would be gone at the most an hour, and hopefully shorter than that if finding shoes didn't prove to be difficult. Today was a Thursday, and that meant her friend would be stopping by to exchange some goods, and Mel wanted to get home before she arrived so she would be able to answer the door. Heavens knows a stranger popping in all of a sudden would scare her new skittish friend out of his skin.   
The sun was warm, and there was a gentle breeze in the air. It was really a pleasant day, and the talk was it was expected to continue like this for the rest of the week. Perhaps she could get the man to go outside tomorrow? He looked like he hadn't gotten proper sunlight in years, which was actually true, and Mel was sure fresh air would do him well.   
Mel's apartment was on the third floor, a creaky flight of metal stairs the only way to reach her front door. When she arrived at the landing she was surprised to see the door already opened, and a bag of goods spilled on the floor.  
Mel froze, preparing herself for what she would see when entering her home. She quietly put down her own grocery bags and carefully stepped inside, arms braced in front of her in anticipation of a possible attack.  
No attack came. Instead, Mel was met with an attack already taking place. Her friend had stopped by, and was holding a struggling Doug against the wall by his throat.  
Mel wasted no time assessing the situation. She grabbed the taller woman by the shoulders, shoving her away as hard as she could. Mel knew she wasn't stronger than her, but surprise was on her side, and the other woman released Doug in an instant, dropping him to the floor.   
Mel didn't release her grip on the woman, pushing her to the other side of the small kitchen, creating as much distance as possible. The shock wore off quickly, and the woman tried to fight back, taking a swing at Mel's head, but Mel was quicker and dodged it with ease.  
“Chell, it's me!” Mel pressed, getting close to her face, so that she could see her more clearly. Chell's eyes were still wide with shock and panic, and she tried to shove Mel away, but Mel held firm.  
“Calm down,” Mel instructed, her tone hard and insistent. “Listen to my voice; you aren't in any danger, just calm down!”  
After a moment more of struggling, the woman's eyes finally fixed on Mel's, recollection hitting. Mel relaxed, letting go of her and turning to check on Doug. In the short amount of time he had managed to crawl away to the opposite wall, sitting with his legs pulled up to his chest and trying very hard not to be seen.   
Mel knelt down in front of him. “Are you alright?” she asked, her tone softer than the one she had used on Chell.   
Doug made no answer; he didn't even look at her, rather his eyes were fixed on the woman behind her, wide with fright and unblinking.   
Mel turned, looking up at Chell sharply. She had taken a step closer, her hand gripping tightly on the knife she kept fastened to her hip.   
Mel stood, walking back to Chell, forcing her to back into the wall once again. “What are you doing?” Mel questioned, her tone returning to its previous sternness.   
Chell's eyes darted between Mel and the man hunched on the opposite side of the room, glowering and full of hate. Mel took another step forward, blocking Doug from Chell's point of view.   
“You're talking to me, no one else,” Mel told her., trying to calm her own voice “No one in here is a threat to you. Now, tell me what happened?”  
Chell didn't answer, instead wordlessly pointing sharply behind Mel.   
“That person is a friend, not an intruder,” Mel explained. “Did you attack him?”  
Chell still didn't answer, only looking down at Mel with an indignant expression.  
Mel huffed. “You can't just attack every stranger you meet, Chell!” she snapped, her temper getting the better of her for once. “Not every person is a threat!”  
Chell shook her head, attempting to push past her, but Mel stood her ground, blocking every movement Chell made.   
“You need to calm down,” Mel ordered, sidestepping again to block Chell's advances. Her eyes flashed as she tried to shove Mel out of the way, but Mel only matched her movements.  
“I said to calm down,” Mel snapped, putting her hands on Chell's shoulders to try and hold her in place. Chell reacted quickly, roughly shoving Mel to the side and once again reaching for her knife. Before she had a chance to take two steps, however, Mel was back in front of her.  
“Stop!”Mel shouted, reacting suddenly and slapping Chell hard across the face before she realized what she was doing.   
Chell stopped immediately, taking a step back and staring at Mel in utter shock. Mel's expression read much the same, as she hadn't intended to react in such a way.   
“Chell, I'm-”  
Mel didn't get to finish her sentence. The woman hadn't waited a moment longer before storming out the door, slamming it shut behind her. Mel was left to stand there, dumbfounded and still trying to process the altercation that had just taken place.   
Mel wasn't a violent person, at least not to people who didn't deserve it. Even then, she was still slow to react in physical ways, always wanting to stick to the diplomatic possibilities instead. However, in that moment, through her fear and stress of the past few days, she panicked, and reacted out of that fear.  
Had she really raised a hand against her friend?  
Mel shook her head. There was a problem at hand that she needed to worry about first. “Doug?” she turned back to where he had been a moment ago, only to see that the man had disappeared.  
Mel froze, panic seizing up inside of her again. “Doug?” she called out again, louder this time. There was no response, only a sickening silence.   
Mel didn't hesitate a moment longer, her body finally kicking into drive as she began to hurriedly search around the kitchen, even going as far as to check inside cabinets and under the sink. He was small enough to fit in such places, at least.   
A horrifying thought occurred to her that he might have rushed outside at some point, but Mel tried to shake that possibility away. He had to be somewhere inside, somewhere close.  
It only took a few more moments of frantic searching before Mel found him, inexplicably squeezed in between the the fridge and the wall, knees pulled up to his chest and arms held protectively over his head.   
Mel couldn't help but sigh in relief. He wasn't in any immediate way of harm, however she wasn't entirely sure how she was going to get him out of that space, or how he had even managed to cram himself into it in the first place.  
“Doug, what are you doing back there?” Mel asked, kneeling down on the floor in front of the small space between the fridge and the wall. “Oh, it doesn't matter, just come out of there before you get yourself hurt.”  
Doug made no move to listen to her. In fact it almost looked as if he tried to scoot further back, if that were even possible.   
“There's nothing to worry about, she's gone,” Mel assured him. “The front door is closed and locked. It's completely safe to come out.”  
He still didn't budge; he was hardly even acknowledging her.   
“You're going to get stuck back there or pull out your stitches trying to get out,” Mel pointed out, her patience wavering ever so slightly. Still Doug didn't make a move.  
Huffing, Mel reached an arm out towards him, grabbing for any part of him she could reach. He reacted quickly to this, kicking hard against her hand with his left leg, causing Mel to recoil immediately.   
“Stop that!” Mel snapped. “I'm trying to help you!”  
Doug made no answer, only peaking his head out slightly, just enough to meet her eyes. She felt her impatience with him growing, but was immediately stopped when their eyes locked.  
She had never seen a look so scared before.  
Mel took a breath, sitting back and closing her eyes to clear her head. “How about you tell me what happened? Would that be better?”  
Doug seemed to fidget, as if he were struggling with how to answer. Mel waited patiently, letting him take all the time he needed to gather himself.   
“You know,” Mel started when a few minutes had past and he still hadn't spoken up. “She's really normally a decent person. I think she was just startled to see someone else answering the door besides me. I don't know her story, but I think she had a rough past. There's no need to take it personally.”  
Doug shook his head at that, wrapping his arms tightly around himself.  
“I don't understand, what do you mean?” Mel asked.  
Doug didn't answer for a few moments, eventually pointing to the direction of his stomach, where his wound was still healing.  
“What about it?” Mel asked, not understanding what he was trying to say.  
Doug paused, as if thinking for a moment. He shakily raised his arm and pointed in the direction of the doorway, then pointed back at his injury.   
Mel raised an eyebrow in question. “Did she have something to do with that?”  
Doug nodded, once again hiding his face from her.  
Mel was silent, needing a moment to process the information he had just given her. She knew Chell could be . . . abrasive at times, but never once had she seen her act out so violently. It was almost hard to believe. But what reason would Doug have for lying?  
“Are . . . are you sure it was her?” Mel asked, not wanting to believe it. Perhaps he was mistaken? Maybe it was just someone who looked like her? Or maybe he didn't actually know who his attacker was and he was just projecting that onto her since she had attacked him here?  
Doug lifted his head slightly and nodded again, just once, but the look on his face was full of certainty. It wasn't entirely impossible that he was mistaken, but there was no trace of lies in that expression.  
Mel sighed, feeling as if there was nothing else for her to do but believe him. She couldn't say she was entirely surprised, but she was more than a little disappointed. It had been a year since Mel met Chell in town. The woman had been hot-headed and quick to start a fight with anyone who looked at her the wrong way. Mel had felt a pang of sympathy for her and tried her hardest to break through that rough exterior, and to a point it had worked. Over a few months they had formed a level of trust with each other, enough that Mel could consider her a friend. She wanted her to grow into a better, civilized person, but perhaps that had been dreaming too big.  
“Alright, you don't have to leave if you don't want to,” Mel assured him. “But you're going to get sore if you sit in that position for too long, and at some point I'm going to make food. I'm sure you don't want to miss a meal, do you?”  
Normally the mention of food got a response out of him, but this time he didn't even lift his head. Instead he remained curled up, hiding from Mel's gaze and any light that tried to make it's way into the tight corner.   
Mel didn't say anything more, deciding there was nothing else she was going to get out of him just yet. She got up from the floor and began to busy herself with picking up the numerous parcels that had been spilled across the floor. It looked as if Chell had dropped them on her way in. The two of them had an agreement together. They would often exchange goods, Mel giving her clothes or other needed household items, and Chell would bring her fresh meat. It was a routine they had gotten into months ago, and was consistent every week.  
She didn't even get the chance to thank her today, or repay Chell with her own goods.   
Twenty minutes passed and Mel had a decent lunch prepared; meat and sauteed vegetables for herself and rice and raw vegetables for Doug. She set the table before once again returning to the spot on the floor in front of where Doug still hid.   
“Lunch is ready,” Mel said, all smiles and no worries. If she gave the appearance of being calm and collected, it often lifted the entire mood of a room, she had learned. Acting like nothing was wrong was one of her best skills, one that had become indispensable to her.   
Doug still didn't stir, not even slightly. Mel almost wondered if he had fallen asleep there. She reached out a hand and lightly touched his knee, ready to jerk back at any moment if he decided to lash out again, but was met with continued stillness.   
“The food is going to get cold,” Mel went on. “And who wants to eat cold rice?”  
Doug peaked up his head a little, but still didn't show any intent to move.   
“You need to eat something,” Mel pressed. “And you are not eating in this dingy corner.”  
Doug sat up, looking at his surroundings. He almost looked confused, as if he didn't remember how he had gotten there in the first place. Mel was finally able to see his face and noticed that his neck looked red, but otherwise didn't appear bruised. Hopefully it would stay that way.  
“Come on,” Mel said, holding out a hand to him. Hesitating for a moment, he took it and carefully began to scoot out from between the wall and the fridge.   
They had their lunch in silence, Doug only half heartedly picking at his food as opposed to eating it as quickly as Mel would allow like he normally did. He drank plenty of water, though, which pleased Mel. She could only imagine how sore is throat probably felt.   
The rest of the day went on in a similar fashion. Because of the earlier . . . excitement . . . Mel decided attempting to go outside today would not be a good idea, and instead looked for things they could do inside. She didn't press any exceeding amount of movement, and rather let Doug curl up on the couch like he wanted. Thinking that he probably needed some sort of stimulation, or at least distraction, Mel eventually picked up the book she had found sitting on the coffee table (she supposed Doug had left it there from earlier) and began to read out loud for the both of them. Luckily, the story she opened to was one of the more happy tales by this particular author, and was able to spend a few hours on reading this story.  
They had one more meal that day, and not long after they finished Doug quietly mentioned that he would like to go to bed. Mel agreed that this was the best idea and helped him back to his room, making sure to return the cube to the room as well. She still didn't understand the purpose of it, or why he was so attached, but Doug was noticeably calmer when the cube was in the same room as him. She had wanted to ask about it ever since he first mentioned it, but decided that it was a conversation for another day.   
“Goodnight,” Mel said, giving his shoulder a light pat before turning to leave the room.  
“Mel,” Doug called after her, his voice still quiet, barely audible.   
“Yes?” Mel asked, stopping in the doorway.  
Doug looked around the room, almost appearing frightened that he might find something in the darkness. It took him a moment to form the words, and when he spoke his voice was a whisper. “Could you . . . stay here?”  
Mel hadn't expected that, her expression appearing perplexed at his sudden uncharacteristic request. “Of course,” she said, reentering the room and sitting down in the chair next to his bed. “I'll stay as long as you like.”  
He didn't respond to that, only taking one final scan of the room before resting his head back down on the pillow. Something was clearly wrong, and Mel almost ventured to ask, but something stopped her. She decided it would be best to just let him sleep for now. It had to be because of what happened earlier. Likely he was still feeling anxious, and he had every right to feel that way. Especially if what he had indicated about what happened those days ago was true.   
Mel waited until she was certain he had fallen asleep before getting up to leave the room. Her steps were silent, and she made sure to leave the door open. She would be returning.  
First, however, there was someone she needed to see.

―

The night was still early, but likely her friend would not be pleased to have visitors after dark, and Mel was certain she wouldn't be pleased to see her. However, Mel needed to get to the bottom of this, and she wasn't going to wait until tomorrow. She couldn't wait.  
Her home, like Mel's was on the outskirts of town, however hers was on a different side and was a good ten minute's walk away. Her home was a small house, mostly run down, but in good repair since she had moved in. She was good with her hands, and a hard worker, and it showed clearly in her progress on the houses repairs.  
Mel knew to expect hostility when her friend opened the door after Mel's insistent knocking, but what she hadn't expected was the knife pointed at her face. However, Mel barely flinched, standing her ground without hardly a blink of an eye. As soon as her friend saw who it was, she immediately put the knife away.  
“Is that any way to greet a friend, Chell?” Mel asked, crossing her arms and sounding disappointed.  
Chell scowled, giving Mel a dirty look. It was clear on her face that she wasn't pleased to have guests, and judging by the way she was dressed in a tank top and shorts she had apparently been ready to go to bed. Mel felt only slightly sorry for disrupting her.  
“We need to talk,” Mel continued. “About what happened today.”  
Chell didn't respond, instead scanning the area behind Mel to make sure she hadn't been followed, then waved her hand for Mel to come inside.   
Chell locked the door behind her, throwing the large latch over the top of the door as well. It could never be said that she wasn't thorough. When the door had been taken care of, Chell went into the kitchen, grabbing a couple of mugs and holding them up for Mel to see, giving her a questioning look.  
“Tea would be nice,” Mel requested, understanding her unspoken question. Chell went ahead and put a pot of water on the stove, heating it up and picking out teas for herself an Mel.   
“The house looks nice,” Mel said, looking around and examining the ceiling. It had been mostly caved in when Chell had first moved in, but now there was a full roof overhead, one that didn't even leak. The walls were also much cleaner, having recently gotten a fresh coat of light green paint.   
Chell didn't respond, instead standing by the stove and waiting for the water to boil. Once the pot began to whistle, she turned off the heat and fixed her and Mel's tea.  
“You don't have to bother with small talk,” Chell said, speaking up for the first time since Mel had arrived, handing her the warm mug. Her voice was low and rough, and was often unused, but when her and Mel were alone, Chell would allow herself the luxury of speaking.   
“Alright, then,” Mel said, taking her first sip before setting the mug onto the table beside where she stood. “Why did you attack my friend in my home today?”  
“Why is that person in your home?” Chell shot back, her tone kept steady, but the bitterness was still evident in her voice.  
“I found him,” Mel explained, matter-of-fact. “On one of my morning runs. Someone had left him for dead, and I decided to help.”  
“You should have let him die,” Chell responded, taking a sip of her own tea.  
“Why?” Mel inquired, trying to keep her tone casual, yet firm.  
Chell took another sip. “Some people are better off dead.”  
Mel was quiet for a moment. “Was it you?” she eventually asked.  
Chell paused mid-swig. “Was what me?” she questioned.  
“You know what,” Mel retorted. “Was it you who stabbed a defenseless person three times and left him to bleed out?”  
“Did he tell you that?” she asked, setting down her mug.  
“Yes,” Mel answered. “In a manner of speaking. Was he lying?”  
Chell shook her head. “I'll own up to it,” she admitted.   
“Why did you do it?” Mel asked, her eyes watching Chell carefully.   
“You wouldn't understand,” Chell informed her.  
“Try me,” Mel challenged.  
Chell smirked. “I know him,” she explained. “Or rather, I know where he came from and what he is.”  
Mel paused, her breath getting caught in her throat. “Where he came from?” she asked, her voice going quiet.  
“We came from the same place,” Chell elaborated.   
Mel felt as if the room had started to spin. What was she saying? It couldn't be . . .  
“Aperture,” Mel said, breathless.  
Chell gave her a confused look. “How do you know about that? Did he tell you?”  
“Yes,” Mel answered. “But also no.”  
“You aren't making sense,” Chell said.   
“He told me about how he came from there,” Mel explained. “But he didn't have to convince me. I already knew that place.”  
Chell's brows furrowed. “What do you mean?” she asked, her tone hardening.  
“I came from there too,” Mel said, taking a breath. “I escaped two years ago.”  
Chell looked at her as if Mel had grown a second head. “How?” she asked, a note of urgency and disbelief in her voice.  
“It's . . . a long story,” Mel explained.  
“I'm sure we can make time,” Chell told her, crossing her arms. “Explain.”  
Mel turned to sit at the table, Chell following suit after her. Mel tried to keep the story as condensed as she could for efficiency's sake. She explained it much like how she told the story to Doug, telling how she had found herself volunteering for the company as a test subject, being woken up by a core in a completely different time from her own, and working against the security machine named AEGIS in an attempt to escape.   
“There was something we should have shut down, but we didn't,” Mel concluded. “A machine that the core seemed to be afraid of. Something called Glottis?”  
Chell went stiff at the name. “You mean GLaDOS,” she corrected, her voice sounding tight and strained.  
“That's what the man called it too,” Mel said. “You know it?”  
Chell didn't answer immediately, instead taking a long sip of her tea. “I killed it,” she finally said, her tone emotionless. “Then it came back and I almost killed it again.”  
“What happened?” Mel asked, any harshness that might have been in her tone before now long gone. Instead, it was replaced with concern.   
Chell stared into her mug, avoiding Mel's eyes. “I was a test subject too,” she explained. “Although I don't remember how I got there. I just remember waking up in a test chamber one day, and I could do nothing else but accept it.”  
“How did you escape?” Mel asked, her tone softening.   
“In a similar fashion as you,” Chell said. “Except the core that helped me only helped for so long. He wasn't friendly like yours.”  
“Will you tell me what happened?” Mel asked, wanting to understand. If she only knew what Chell had gone through, what had happened to her in that place, maybe she would understand why she behaved the way she did, why she lashed out the way she did.  
Maybe she could find a way to help her?  
“It isn't a short or pleasant story,” Chell cautioned.  
“I don't mind,” Mel said, sincerely.   
“I'll make more tea,” Chell said, getting up.   
The story was longer than Mel's own, even with Chell's concise manner. She explained as much as she could, and Mel listened quietly all the while Chell talked. It was the most Mel had ever heard the woman speak, and it was clear Chell didn't enjoy it, but she pushed through nonetheless.   
When her story was done, Mel could find that she didn't know what to say. Even though she had survived Aperture as well, Chell's story was hard to take in. It was evident that unlike herself, both Chell and Doug had experienced far worse dangers in that facility.   
It was almost too much to stomach.  
Mel tried to put the pieces of both the stories she heard from Chell and Doug together. Doug had mentioned a test subject that had taken down this GLaDOS, and briefly mentioned to having kept an eye on them during his time of being trapped in that place. It was obvious now that that test subject had been Chell. But Chell never mentioned meeting anyone else in the facility, the only signs of life she had found being strange writings on the walls hidden in test chambers and vents.   
Had Doug been the one to leave those there?  
It was obvious there were things that Doug didn't tell her about his story. For whatever reason, he didn't want Mel to know much about Chell, or about any involvement he might have had with her. But why?  
Mel finished her tea, setting the empty mug down on the table. “I think,” Mel began, speaking slowly as she tried to gather her thoughts. “I think you and that person need to talk.”  
Chell shot Mel and accusing look. “No,” she said, sounding almost disgusted.  
“I think you both could benefit from hearing each others stories,” Mel continued.   
“That _person_ is one of the people responsible for what happened to us,” Chell snapped. “They're the ones who caused all of this to happen, who put us into that place. He deserves a bullet to the head, not a nice chat.”  
Mel frowned. “You don't know the whole story,” she tried to explain.  
“And you do?” Chell shot back.   
“I know more than you on this matter,” Mel told her. “I've heard his side of things.”  
“You can't believe anything he's said,” Chell warned her. “They're all lies.”  
“I disagree,” Mel responded calmly. “And I think you would too if you talked to him.”  
“Why?” Chell questioned. “What are you hoping to gain from this?”  
“I don't hope to gain anything,” Mel answered. “I want to see you two find peace.”  
Chell almost laughed at that. “We had our entire lives stolen from us and were spit out into a world we don't belong in. And you expect me to find peace?”  
“I did,” Mel said quietly.   
“You're delusional,” Chell retorted.  
“Maybe,” Mel agreed. “But at least I've learned to move on and live. What are you doing?”  
“Surviving,” Chell shot back.  
“Well, I wanted something more out of life than just surviving,” Mel responded. She got up from her seat, taking her mug and going over to set it in the sink. “It's getting late, I should head home.”  
Chell shrugged. “There's the door,” she said, waving her hand at the exit.  
Mel made her way towards it, hesitating before unlocking the latch. “Chell,” she said, turning around to face her. “I . . . I want you to find closure. I think if you two talk, it might help you . . . move on.”  
Chell didn't respond, instead keeping her focus on the mug in her hands.  
“And I'm sorry I slapped you earlier,” Mel added, her tone sincere. She didn't wait for a response, unlocking the knob and heading out the door, closing it gently behind her.  
She walked home in the dark, far too many thoughts in her head to get to sleep any time soon.

―

Chell locked the door behind her, throwing the latch as a final security. The events of that day had left her feeling both wired and exhausted, and now after that conversation with Mel, her only friend in this entire new world, she felt almost empty, drained.   
There was much to think about, but Mel's final words had stuck in her head. Closure. Chell wasn't sure she believed in such a thing, just as she wasn't sure she believed in peace, either. None of them she had ever known, and she couldn't imagine they would make themselves real to her now.   
But the words wouldn't let her be. And some part of her, buried deep inside under layers of distrust and anger and, above all, hurt, there was a feeling that clawed at her insides, a desire that she couldn't shut away no matter how hard she tried.  
She wanted to live too.


	5. Chapter Five

“Let's go on an adventure today.”  
Doug set down his cup, giving Mel a perplexed look from across the kitchen table. “Pardon?” he asked, not sure he heard her correctly.  
“An adventure,” Mel repeated. “Let's have one today.”  
Doug picked up his fork, poking at the diced fruit on his plate. Mel had been insistent on him using proper utensils, a habit he had gotten out of over the past few years.   
“Why?” he asked, wary of whatever plan she might have had in mind. Her last idea had been to hold him captive in the bathroom and threatening sharp objects close to his face; he wasn't thrilled to go along with whatever new activity she had in store.   
“You've been here for over a week and haven't once gone outside,” Mel pointed out. “I think it's time you got some fresh air.”  
Doug thought about that. It's true he hadn't yet stepped foot out of this apartment, and the feeling of being trapped was always playing at the back of his mind, but the thought of what could possibly be waiting for him outside was almost just as unpleasant. Things hadn't gone well the last time he opened that door.  
“A short walk, at least,” Mel went on. “You do need the exercise.”  
And there lied the other problem: walking. His wounds were healing nicely, though they still pained him a bit, but his leg had been giving him increasing amount of trouble, and he hoped to keep this private from Mel. The last thing he wanted was for her to find another reason to call that distasteful doctor over and have the man poke at him some more.   
“I walk around the apartment plenty,” Doug responded, trying to put his focus onto the food on his plate rather than on the unwanted conversation.   
“That's not exercise,” Mel pointed out. “You can't lie around inside all day, you're going to get fat.”  
“It can't be much worse than being unspeakably thin,” Doug grumbled, looking down at himself. The clothes he wore were already small, but they still hung off him loosely.   
“What are you afraid of?” Mel pressed, a slight note of teasing in her voice. “Trees?”  
“I'm not afraid,” Doug argued.  
“Then go on a walk with me,” Mel retorted.   
Doug huffed, setting down his fork. “Can't I finish my breakfast in peace?”  
“Only if you agree to go on a walk with me,” Mel told him.  
“A short walk,” Doug said.  
“A short walk,” Mel agreed, smiling.  
The walk, in fact, turned out to be longer than Doug had hoped. Mel promised they were just going down the road, which wasn't a lie, but the time it took to get there was made longer by Doug's slow movements. He hadn't yet encountered stairs, and there were two flights of them to get down. Mel helped keep him steady, and with her assistance he was able to play off any additional pain caused by his leg as nonexistent. The going, however, was still slow.   
The sun was shining in the sky, but was thankfully accompanied by a fair amount of clouds, which did at least a little good in keeping temperatures down from sweltering. The heat obviously didn't bother Mel in the slightest, but was enough to have Doug panting as they descended to the ground level of the apartment building. There was still the walk to the end of the road.  
Mel was patient enough, willing to take short breaks along the way for Doug to catch his breath (and try to wait for his eyes to adjust to the bright sunlight – they didn't). When they finally reached the end of the road, Mel had them take a turn to the side, getting off the pavement and onto the soft grass underneath a handful of trees, where Mel helped Doug to sit down and followed suit herself, both eventually laying on their backs in the grass and gazing up at the sky.  
“That wasn't so bad, was it?” Mel asked, smiling over at him.  
“Whatever you say,” Doug responded, breathing heavy. He tried squinting up at the sky, but found the light to be still too bright for his eyes liking, and settled for closing them instead.  
They both rested in silence, taking in the warmth of the sun and the gentle breeze that passed through. Despite the heat and glaring brightness of the sun, being outside actually was very refreshing to Doug. He wasn't sure when the last time he had really enjoyed being outside, having only spent a few moments after escaping Aperture to enjoy the breath of fresh air before focusing his energy on getting as far away from the facility as possible. This time, however, he could just sit and appreciate the warm air that filled his lungs, and the sweet scent of grass beneath him. There was nothing artificial about this, nothing mechanical or man-made. There was a freedom in nature that nothing created by man could mimic.   
Perhaps taking a walk wasn't so bad.  
“You're smiling,” Mel commented, breaking the silence.  
“Am I?” Doug asked, taking little notice.  
“You are,” Mel confirmed. “See? You are enjoying yourself. To be honest I didn't think you were capable of smiling.”  
Doug suppressed a laugh. “You learn something new every day,” he said.   
They returned to silence, heeding only the sound of the wind blowing through the treetops overhead. After a few minutes Doug ventured to open his eyes again, turning to look at Mel. She was watching him, a peculiar look on her face.  
Startled, Doug scooted away slightly. “Yes?” he asked, suddenly feeling very vulnerable. Her eyes were too fixed, digging too deep for his liking.   
“What happened the other day?” Mel asked, her voice taking on that serious tone Doug had learned to associate with danger. It meant she wanted something, and would make use of numerous methods to get it, like a parent trying to worm secrets out of their children.   
Doug turned away, facing once again back to the sky and closing his eyes. “I believe you saw what happened,” he explained simply.  
“But why?” Mel pressed. “I hope it wasn't because you provoked her.”  
“I answered the door; that was it,” Doug responded, trying to keep his tone level. They hadn't brought up that encounter again after that day, and Doug had started to hope Mel would never bring it up. Apparently it was too much to ask.  
“I spoke with her,” Mel continued, earning a surprised look from Doug. “She seems to think she was justified in her actions. Was she?”  
Doug thought for a moment, not wanting to answer immediately. “That's a matter of opinion, I suppose,” he eventually said.   
“What do you think?” Mel asked, still watching him carefully.  
Doug held her gaze for only a moment, eventually averting his eyes to look down at the ground next to him. “I think if she tried again I wouldn't stop her.”  
Mel's expression stiffened. “Why do you say that?” she asked.   
“If she believes she has been wronged, who am I to say otherwise?” he questioned.   
“Was she wronged?” Mel pressed.  
“It's a matter of opinion,” Doug stated again.  
“Then what is your opinion?” Mel continued, her tone demanding an answer.  
Doug didn't answer. The conversation had begun to venture to places he didn't want to have to revisit.   
“You haven't told me everything,” Mel went on, not ready to give up on the conversation.  
“I've told you enough,” Doug said, wanting nothing more than for the discussion to end.  
“You knew her, didn't you?” Mel said, not taking the hint. Or rather, taking the hint fully well, but deciding to ignore it.  
“I had never met her before now,” Doug answered simply.  
“But you knew her somehow,” Mel suggested.   
“What point are you trying to make?” Doug questioned, looking back up at Mel. “What do you have to gain from questioning me?”  
“She's my friend,” Mel answered. “I want to understand what happened.”  
“What are you hoping to discover?” Doug asked, still managing to hold eyes with her.  
“An explanation,” Mel responded. “An answer to why she holds so much contempt, and why she aimed it at you.”  
Doug shrugged. “I think only she could answer that for you,” he said simply.  
“But maybe you could have some insight,” Mel suggested. “Or at least an explanation to your words earlier.”  
“Which ones?” Doug asked. He had spoken an awful lot of words to her, at least more than he normally did.  
“That you wouldn't stop her if she tried something again,” Mel explained. “What exactly do you mean by that?”  
“I've already told you,” Doug said shortly.   
“You didn't give me a proper reason,” Mel told him. “People don't just lie down and accept something like that unless they believe they deserve it. So why do you?”  
Once again, Doug did not answer her.  
“Please,” Mel said. “I want to understand.”  
Doug stayed silent, wishing instead that he could be far away from this place, far away from having to deal with Mel's questions and the answers he didn't want to give. But she wasn't going to relent, and he knew that. And he certainly wasn't in any position to simply run away, either. He was trapped.  
“She wouldn't have ended up in the testing track if it weren't for me,” he admitted quietly.   
Mel remained silent, deciding to wait for him to continue.  
“She was number 1498 on the list,” Doug went on. “She wasn't even suppose to be tested. But I had read her file, I had seen her test before. She was the only person who could have shut _that thing_ down. She was the only hope of escaping.”  
Doug paused, taking a breath before continuing. “If . . . if I hadn't gotten involved she wouldn't have gone through all of that.”  
“You both would still be trapped in there,” Mel pointed out softly.  
“Maybe that would have been better,” Doug mused quietly.   
“You both made it out alive,” Mel stated. “Isn't that something to be proud of?”  
“No one else did,” Doug said, his voice quivering slightly. “Why should we live when everyone else died?”  
“Just because they didn't survive doesn't mean you shouldn't,” Mel said firmly. “It's not like it was your fault.”  
“And how do you know that?” Doug questioned, meeting her eyes again. “What makes you so sure that it wasn't?”  
“That's not possible,” Mel told him. “You aren't capable of that.”  
“You don't know that for sure,” he said.  
“I'm sure one person could not be responsible for something like what happened,” Mel explained.   
“But one person could have tried to stop it,” Doug went on. “I knew what we were doing was wrong, I knew it was dangerous. I knew if we continued in the way we were going something terrible would happen but I didn't say a word. I told myself they wouldn't believe me, anyways, so what was the point of trying?”  
“Why would they not?” Mel questioned. “You worked on the project, didn't you? If they would have believed anyone wouldn't it have been you?”  
“People usually don't believe the resident paranoid schizophrenic,” Doug replied simply.  
Mel went quiet. “Oh,” she said after a long pause.   
Neither of them spoke for a while, and Doug was starting to hope that the conversation had been dropped entirely when Mel spoke up again.  
“Well, if you went by that logic then there wasn't anything you could have done,” she said, trying to sound reassuring.   
“I could have tried anyways,” Doug responded.   
“Would that have done any good?” Mel asked, uncertain.  
“It couldn't have been worse than the outcome we got,” he answered.  
“But what if-”  
“Mel,” Doug interrupted. “Please.”  
Mel shut her mouth, going silent for a moment. “I just think you're being too hard on yourself,” she stated, having nothing else to say on the matter.   
Doug didn't respond to that, more than willing to let the conversation finally die. He didn't agree with Mel's statement, not one bit, but he wasn't going to argue with her any further.  
He had messed up. There was no denying that fact. Whether it was worth the effort to warn the others against the dangers they were getting themselves into would remain unknown, but at the very least he could have tried. He should have tried. Maybe, just maybe, at least one person might have been saved. If it meant one person staying home, not coming into work and meeting such an end, it would have been worth it. But he didn't warn them, and now he was going to have to live with that, free and in the world, forever.   
It would have been better to die by her hands.  
Mel sat up, stretching her arms over her head. “I think that's plenty of fresh air, don't you?” she asked, her voice returning to it's normal casual and light tone.   
Doug sat up as well, feeling rather stiff from lying in the grass for so long. He gave Mel a simple nod, having exhausted his desire to speak. Mel helped him back to his feet, and together they made the longer than necessary trek back to Mel's apartment.  
If getting down the stairs had been tricky, getting up them was an absolute nightmare. The muscles it required Doug to use were far weaker than they had been two weeks ago, and with the wounds in his stomach plus the pain in his leg, every step felt like a mile. At first he tried to walk up them normally, using both legs equally to take steps without pause, but it wasn't long before he discovered that his right leg simply could not support the weight of lifting himself up a step, and he was forced to use only his left leg for this endeavor.   
Mel took notice of this; it was hard not to. But she didn't say anything, instead remaining silent at his side and giving support where he needed it. Doug was thankful for that, reminding himself to be mindful that, despite her pushiness, Mel was still unreasonably kind to him. He wasn't sure how he would ever return the favor, or if it were even within his capabilities. Perhaps he could be more cooperative with her? She would certainly appreciate it, at least. Whether or not he could actually go through with it, he decided he should make at least an effort. It was something small, but it was something he could do.  
“I'm going to take a shower,” Mel said when they finally made it inside and Doug was sitting safely on the couch to rest. He gave her a brief nod of acknowledgment as she left down the hallway and disappeared into the bathroom. Doug lied back on the couch contently, glad for a chance to catch his breath and sit in quiet for a while.  
 _You left me_ , interrupted the voice of the cube barely a moment later.   
“She wouldn't let me bring you,” Doug said, apologetic. The cube was sitting on the floor beside the couch, and Doug carefully reached over to give it a small pat.  
 _Are you going to start leaving me more often?_ It continued to ask, sounding indifferent.   
“Of course not,” Doug answered quickly. “Why would you think that?”  
 _I might not be necessary now that you're here,_ it said simply.   
“That's ridiculous,” Doug muttered.   
_Is it?_ The cube asked. _Now that you're free, what purpose do I serve?_  
“I need you,” Doug said firmly. “Whether you serve a purpose or not.”  
The cube was silent for a moment before responding. _Then maybe you aren't ready to be here, after all._  
“Why do you say that?” Doug asked, not following the point the cube was trying to make.  
 _You say you need me, but you aren't allowed to take me with you,_ the cube explained. _If I'm not allowed to be here, are you?_  
Doug didn't have an answer for that. He wanted to find some argument for it, some reasoning against the cube's words, but he could find none. If that were the case, maybe the cube was right?  
He was given another shot at life, and he fought hard to attain it. But now that he had it, did he even deserve it? Did he even want it? Was all the fighting just for the sake of winning, and not for the prize itself?  
His thoughts were interrupted by a loud knock at the door.  
 _Don't answer it,_ the cube warned. _Remember what happened last time._   
He remembered perfectly well what happened last time. It was usually hard to forget when someone attempts to strangle you. Though there was no reason to assume it was her that was knocking, Doug didn't dare to answer the door, just in case. However, the knocking continued, pausing for a few seconds before picking up again, always loud, always insistent.   
“It's not going to stop,” Doug commented, putting his hands over his ears.  
 _They'll get tired of this eventually and leave,_ the cube assured him. _Just be patient._   
Patience, however, was beginning to wear thin. It sounded as if the knocking were only getting louder, and the breaks between knocks getting shorter. Perhaps it would be her, perhaps the same exact thing would happen again if he answered that door. But maybe that would be alright. As long as it meant the blasted knocking would stop.  
The cube protested against his actions, of course, but Doug ignored it. He hobbled over to the door, grabbing the broom sitting against the wall on his way. Maybe he would go down, but perhaps he didn't have to go down without a fight. One hand gripping the broom, the other shaking as it reached for the door, he unlocked the latch and pulled the door open, warily peeking outside.  
In front of him stood an elderly woman, holding a small basket of what looked like linens. Doug couldn't help but sigh in relief, even though it was a stranger, at least it wasn't someone ready to attack him. Hopefully.  
“Is Mel home?” the woman asked. “She left her laundry outside to dry but I'm afraid it's going to rain later and was worried she had forgotten about it.”  
Doug looked up at the sky, where there wasn't a single cloud in sight.  
“She's not able to come to the door right now,” he explained. “I can take those for her.”  
“You're so sweet to help her,” the older woman said warmly, handing over the basket to Doug (which was almost too heavy, causing him to drop the broom in the process).   
“I didn't know Mel had roommates,” the woman continued, smiling up at him. “Are you her boyfriend?”  
Doug felt his face grow very warm as he shook his head quickly. “Just a friend,” he explained, now regretting ever answering the door.   
“I wasn't born yesterday, young man,” the woman said with a knowing grin. “You two have fun, and remember, the world needs a new generation.”  
Doug almost dropped the linens. “Thank you,” he mumbled, indicating to the basket in his hands.   
The old woman gave a small wave and turned to head down the stairs. As best he could with his right leg, Doug attempted to close the door behind her, only to have it suddenly stopped and nearly causing him to fall back in the process.  
He regained his balance just in time for the door to be seen opening again, a very different face waiting for him on the other side.  
This time he did drop the basket.  
The linens spilled out over the floor, the basket itself creating a dull thud as it hit the tiled flooring. Both watched as the neatly folded linens unceremoniously turned into a ragged pile at their feet, neither saying a word or making a move to try and salvage them.   
There was no sudden movement, no effort for attack or panicked frenzy, only stillness. The most movement that occurred was Doug's eyes darting back and forth between the woman standing before him and the abandoned broom on the floor, right under her feet.   
The faint sound of the shower water running in the other room stopped, breaking the atmosphere.   
“Is she-”  
“She's here,” Doug stated, a bit too quickly.  
Chell nodded in understanding, but didn't say anything more.  
Doug shifted uncomfortably, finding it hard to stand still. His mind was insisting on him finding a place to hide and close his eyes until all of this went away, but his feet were beyond his control at this point and wouldn't allow him to move.   
“You're shaking,” she eventually said, her tone holding a slight condescending note.  
 _Really? Can't imagine why,_ Doug thought to himself. He realized that he had never heard her speak before, and was surprised to hear how low her voice sounded.  
Doug opened his mouth to speak, but shut it a second later. He gave it a few tries before the words finally came out. “Are you here to see Mel?” His voice clearly shook, and it was almost too quiet to hear, but the words came out nonetheless.  
“No,” was her simple answer.   
He could feel his knees rocking. The room was going to start spinning at any moment; he needed to sit down but he still couldn't force himself to move. If he held out for just a little longer Mel should come out of the bathroom. She would know what to do; she always had an answer for everything.  
“Why are you here?” she questioned, ignoring his poor state and speaking in a tone that to Doug sounded far more intimidating than he was equipped to handle.   
“You're the one who came here,” Doug pointed out, surprising himself with such a blunt response. He hadn't meant to say that out loud.  
“Why are you here?” Chell repeated, emphasizing her words. Doug knew what she meant, but he didn't know how to answer. He wasn't even sure of that himself.  
“I don't know,” he admitted. “Why are you?”  
Chell seemed taken aback by his question, like she hadn't expected him to shoot back at her. To be honest, he hadn't either.  
“How did you escape?” Chell asked, ignoring his question, trying to keep control over the conversation.  
“I knew where to find an exit,” Doug answered simply. It wasn't a lie.  
“So why didn't you leave sooner?” she asked, furrowing a brow.   
“It wasn't safe,” he explained. “She could see. And . . . I needed to be sure . . .”  
He couldn't finish the sentence, his breath catching in his throat. He was going to be sick. He needed to sit down.  
“Be sure of what?” Chell pressed, seeing clearly his state of discomfort but not bothering to mince her words.   
The room was indeed starting to shift, but he couldn't bring himself to move. He realized something then, something that he was probably already aware of, but never put into conscious thought. He couldn't say no to her. If she wanted to hurt him, he would let her. If she wanted him to talk, he would obey. Whatever power she had over him, he had no ability to fight against it. No amount of terror was going to change that.  
“I had to be sure that you got out,” he answered, realizing just how small his voice had become.   
Her face pinched up, as if she had smelled something displeasing. “Why?”   
He knew his answer wouldn't be favorable to her. He had no idea how she would react, but he couldn't imagine it would be calmly or with any trace of compassion.  
“I'm the one who put you on that testing track,” he answered quietly.  
Chell was quiet, her face hard and unreadable. Doug waited for the explosion, for the riot that was sure to come, but it never did. Instead, she simply said quietly, “Explain.”  
He hadn't expected that response from her, and it took a moment for the word to settle in to his brain. But when it did, the words started to spill out, as if he had been holding them in for too long and the pressure was finally being released. This wasn't entirely off from the truth.  
“You were the only test subject to exceed at testing and be denied for it,” he started, trying to keep his words clear and separated. “I had never seen someone perform at your level, get as far as you did with the way of thinking you displayed. You broke tests, ignored rules, and found ways around solving the unsolvable. When . . . when everything happened, I knew the only chance of escape would be to shut her down, and you were the perfect candidate. I couldn't do it myself . . . I would never have even gotten close. I hoped . . . I hoped that if you could succeed there would be a chance of getting out alive. It was a hunch, but I took it.”  
Chell listened patiently, her eyes narrowing with each new word. When he finally finished, she looked down at the floor, examining the linens that still lay there, slowly becoming wrinkled.  
“You used me,” she finally said after a long moment of silence.  
“Yes,” Doug agreed. “I used you.”  
Chell huffed, shaking her head in disbelief. “You aren't even going to deny it?”  
“What I did was wrong,” he responded. “I'm ready to admit that.”  
“Did you sit by and watch as she tried to _murder me?_ ” Chell asked, her voice raising slightly.  
“Yes,” Doug answered. “I told myself it was because I believed you could handle it, but I was really just afraid.”  
“So you thought you would just sit back and let me do all of the work, then save yourself when it was most convenient?” Chell questioned, her voice dripping with bitterness.   
“I didn't see it that way at the time, but yes,” he answered, feeling more ashamed by the moment. He deserved to feel that way, this was exactly what he had earned. Any anger she felt towards him could only be justified; he was beyond hoping for any grace.  
“Do you expect me to thank you?” Chell asked, almost spitting the words at him.  
“No,” he answered, feeling himself tense up at her tone. “However you feel you need to respond . . . is alright.”  
Chell was silent again, looking him over, trying to study the expression on his face. He was sure he looked pathetic, practically shaking out of his skin and beyond frightened. She took a step closer, and he could feel his whole body wince, as if she had already struck him. But he didn't back down. He didn't run away.  
“One more question,” Chell said, still standing a couple of feet away, but it could have been an inch as far as Doug was concerned.  
He nodded sheepishly, not sure if he was prepared for whatever left she had to ask.  
“Was it you . . . who left the messages on the walls?” she asked, her tone breaking for a moment into something more curious, rather than distasteful.  
Doug blinked, not expecting that to be the question she asked. He suddenly felt very exposed, as half of those hadn't been meant for anyone to see, but surely she had seen plenty.   
“Yes,” he admitted, looking down now at his feet.   
Chell was looking down at him peculiarly, as if there was some puzzle in his face she could solve. He didn't meet her eyes, keeping his own firmly fixed just below her knees.  
Chell opened her mouth to speak, but closed it again, considering her words more carefully.  
“They were . . . very helpful to me,” she finally said, her voice sounding softer than it had this entire time. “Thank you.”  
Doug looked up at her with surprise, those words being the last he would have ever expected to hear from her.   
His knees shook, to the point that it was hard to keep standing. The world had started shifting again, or had it gone blurry? The air in the room felt thicker, harder to breathe in, and it wasn't long before his knees finally gave out, landing on them hard on the tiled floor.  
“I'm sorry,” he said, his voice cracking on the word. “I'm so, so sorry.”  
It felt like something inside of him and suddenly come undone, and every bit of emotion began to pour out. Every regret and fear and feeling of hopelessness came crashing down at once, and expelled itself through the tears that now streamed down his face. If only he could convey to her the regret he felt, the disappointment and sorrow he had for what he had done to her, what he didn't do himself. But he wasn't sure words would do any good at this point. Nothing could erase the horrors she went through, nothing he said would ever change that.  
There was a sound of linen ruffling, and a moment later a hand under his chin, pulling his face up to look at her own. Chell was kneeling in front of him, her face a mixture of confusion and still that look of determination he had learned to memorize and fear. She didn't say anything, and neither did he. They only stared, a silence less threatening than before, but somehow more terrifying.  
“I'm not sure I forgive you,” Chell eventually said, her voice gone quiet now, speaking barely above a whisper. “But maybe we're even now.”  
Doug didn't know how to respond, or even if he should. What could he possibly say to her? What more words could he possibly give to make up for what he did?  
Chell continued. “I don't think we will ever understand each other. And I don't regret my actions towards you. Not entirely. But even though you took away my life you also helped give it back. Perhaps . . . we could come to an agreement?”  
“What kind?” Doug asked, his voice barely a whisper, still fully conscious how how threatening close her hand was too his face.   
“We continue living,” Chell said. “And let the other live as well.”  
Doug remained silent, considering her words.   
“We don't have to see each other again,” Chell continued. “Or even acknowledge the others existence if we like. We just have to agree to live in the same world.”  
“I'm sure that's fair,” Doug responded. Though he didn't find the proposition to be difficult on his end, it was hers he worried about.  
“Maybe one day we could try this again,” Chell added. “Talking. But not yet. I think it's too soon for the both of us.”  
Doug nodded, he did agree there. He wasn't sure how much more his nerves could take of this.  
Chell got to her feet, her hand extended for a moment as an offering to help him stand, but it was removed before he had a chance to decide to take it. He stood on his own; shaky, but he was standing.  
“Does it hurt?” Chell asked, not needing to be specific in her words. Doug knew what she was talking about.  
“Yes,” he answered, deciding for once not to cut her slack.  
Chell nodded in understanding. It looked like she was about to say something, but she stopped herself before the words could be formed. Instead she turned to the door (which had been left open since her arrival), glancing up at the sky.  
“It's going to rain today,” she commented, not looking back as she left the apartment, leaving the door open behind her.  
Doug didn't move to close the door; in fact he didn't move from that spot until Mel returned from the bathroom, scolding him for the state of the kitchen, completely unaware of the events that had just taken place.  
Doug remained still, only staring at the sky and watching as the first cloud rolled in.

―

It did rain that day. In fact, it poured.  
She couldn't keep it in until she got back, everything spilling out as she walked to her home, sticking to the roads on the edge of town so that no one would have to see. No one could ever see.  
She had made a mistake, that much was clear. She had made a terrible mistake and she couldn't even own up to it. She couldn't let that person have that effect on her. She couldn't be weak.  
So instead she covered it up. She pretended like it didn't matter, like it didn't have an effect on him. It will pass. That's what she wanted to tell him. But she also wanted to apologize, to make amends. She wanted to stop fighting, but didn't know how. She wanted so badly to feel that closure Mel spoke of, but she couldn't bring herself to chase after it. She couldn't bring herself to let her guard down and accept it. She couldn't apologize. She could never apologize.  
Maybe one day she could try again. Maybe one day she could look him in the eye and be honest with him. Maybe one day she would be able to be honest with herself. But it wasn't today. She hadn't changed. She hadn't grown.   
She was just like her.  
Chell shook her head, trying to throw away these thoughts that wouldn't give her a moment of peace. No, she was stronger. She was stronger because at least she faced it. At least she made an effort. Even if she wasn't successful, at least she had tried.   
But would she ever have the courage to try again?  
It rained so, so much.


	6. Epilgoue

It had rained nonstop that week. A constant haze of gray hung over the world, ceaselessly pouring buckets and buckets of water, to the point that even the plants were beginning to grow tired of it. But at the end of the week, out came the sun, and the world was once again bathed in warmth.   
It was a fine day to go for a walk, and that's exactly what Doug and Mel did, finally settling down in their favorite spot underneath the trees, laying in the grass and watching as the sparse clouds rolled by. Due to the recent rain, Mel insisted on bringing a blanket for them to lay on, ever worried about Doug catching a cold that he wouldn't be able to shake. He, of course, thought her worries were needless, but was unable to argue with her nonetheless.   
They liked to lay in silence, both swept up in their own thoughts, or maybe even no thoughts at all. Occasionally Mel would point out a cloud that she thought had an interesting shape, and Doug would respond with a polite agreement, and they would return to silence.   
It was the middle of the day, and thinking ahead, as was natural for her, Mel had prepared a lunch for them to share. Though she no longer held restrictions on his diet, Doug had found that he preferred to not eat meat, and settled for just tomato and lettuce on his sandwiches. Unfortunately, cheese was no longer an option, as he had apparently developed a lactose intolerance (though sometimes he made an exception when Mel wasn't watching).   
“You know, you're never going to be properly healthy if you continue to refuse eating meat,” Mel pointed out between bites of her sandwich.  
“I get plenty of protein elsewhere,” Doug informed her. “You made sure of that.”  
“You're always going to be underweight if you don't,” Mel continued, not giving up her point.  
“I am not underweight,” Doug argued, a touch insulted.   
“Yes you are,” Mel said in a teasing sing-song voice.  
“Alright, maybe a little, but nothing compared to how I used to be,” Doug stated, sitting up straighter as if to prove his stature had improved. Mel only laughed at this; not buying it for a moment.  
In truth his stature had improved quite a bit. Though his posture still wasn't the greatest (it never had been), he no longer looked like he were on the brink of starvation. He had even gained some muscle; though not enough to be necessarily defined, it was evident in his ability to no longer physically exhaust himself after a few minutes of exertion. Walks were also not a major issue anymore, and his stamina for helping Mel with her endless list of chores to do around the apartment was only a little under average for someone of his age.   
“I still think you should give meat another try,” Mel went on, picking a grape from the bunch she had packed in their little picnic basket.  
“And when I get sick on your floor you are more than welcome to be the one to clean it up,” Doug told her.   
Mel chewed her grape thoughtfully, reaching for another. “Speaking of cleaning,” she started. “Did you sweep the floor like I asked you to this morning?”  
Doug reached for a grape as well, pretending to not have heard her.  
“Douglas Rattmann I swear-”  
“My name isn't Douglas,” he corrected her quickly, trying to change the subject.  
“I told you specifically to sweep the floor before we go out today,” Mel said, exasperated.   
“I might have gotten . . . distracted,” Doug admitted, looking down at the grape he held between his fingers.  
“Were you painting again?” Mel asked.  
“Maybe.”  
“On a canvas this time, right?” Mel asked further.  
Doug was silent for a moment. “Maybe?”  
Mel groaned. “What walls do I have to repaint?”  
“No one ever looks in the closet,” Doug pointed out. “You really don't have to paint over it.”  
“Except I have a landlord who would be livid if he knew we were scribbling on his walls,” Mel argued.   
“I wouldn't call it scribbling,” Doug said, a little offended. “In fact, I think this painting turned out very nice.”  
“Then next time put it on a canvas and we can hang it on our wall like normal people,” Mel told him.  
“Well, that would just be boring,” Doug grumbled.  
“Sometimes boring can be refreshing,” Mel said. “Honestly, if you tried painting normal things sometimes I'm sure you'll find it to be very relaxing. Like that self-portrait I keep asking you to do.”  
“I don't do self-portraits,” Doug informed her, for what felt like the hundredth time.  
“Oh, but it would be so lovely,” Mel encouraged. “A step up from that squiggle man you always draw as yourself, anyways.”  
“I like the squiggle man,” Doug stated, crossing his arms.  
“You're wasting your potential,” Mel said.  
“Melanie, if you say that again-”  
“My name isn't Melanie,” Mel interrupted, trying to suppress a giggle.  
“Sorry, Melody,” Doug corrected himself.  
“That isn't my name, either, Dougward,” Mel said, laughing now.  
“That isn't even a real name!” Doug argued, finding himself smiling too.  
They returned to silence, both trying to hold their laughter together, and doing a poor job of it. Doug hadn't been much of one for laughter, but Mel had quite a knack for being able to break through his pensive exterior. Sometimes he didn't mind too much. Mel had become someone he could almost trust, and sometimes he fully did. The relationship they had was still unclear to him, but it felt like what he imagined a sibling relationship would be. They argued, they fought, they had disagreements and sometimes would go for hours without speaking to each other, but they always managed to work their differences out in the end. They cared for each other, and in this new, unfamiliar world, that was all Doug could hope for.  
“I'm serious, though,” Mel continued after a few minutes of silence. “A self-portrait would be nice.”  
“Portraits aren't my forte,” Doug responded.  
“Don't lie, I know they are,” Mel said. “I've seen them, you know. Your portraits. You don't hide them very well.”  
Doug was silent, deciding to entertain himself with another grape that he rolled between his fingers.  
“Why do you paint her?” Mel asked, her voice softer now, the tone she always used when deciding to be serious or concerned.   
Doug only shrugged. He continued to roll the grape around between his forefinger and thumb. He didn't have an answer for Mel, at least not one he felt he could explain. In truth, he wasn't sure why he continued to paint her, even after everything. Perhaps, it wasn't in spite of everything, but because of it? Some insane fascination that wouldn't go away, no matter how hard he pushed at it. Perhaps it was those last words she spoke to him that held him?  
Exactly how much did it really rain that day?  
Mel scooted to her knees, beginning to pack everything back into the picnic basket. “I need to head to the market today, would you like to come?”  
Doug nodded, getting up and helping her fold up their blanket and stuffing it into the basket as well.  
The walk to the market wasn't long, it was only a few blocks away. Even though all of his wounds had healed, Doug still wasn't the fastest when it came to walking. Due to never properly treating the wound in his leg until weeks after the incident, he now walked with a permanent slight limp, but it was nothing he couldn't handle as long as he kept to a slower pace. However, in moments of great emergency, like when sneaking food in the middle of the night and needing to scurry away before being caught by Mel, he could actually be quite swift on his feet. Only in short bursts, though.   
The market was bustling with life, as it did every Saturday when it was open. They shopped for basic items like fruit and bread, and Mel even managed to snag a bag of cornmeal. Doug dutifully helped her carry any groceries she bought, getting rather used to being her shopping cart. Every Saturday Mel always lingered by the apples and pears, unsure if she should get one or the other or splurge and get both. Every Saturday Doug waited patiently for her to make up her mind, standing a few feet behind her, out of the way. Every Saturday, he would turn and see a pair of silver eyes watching him four booths away, lingering for a moment before returning to inspecting the bread selection.  
Every Saturday they would make eye contact, and yet never a word was spoken between them.  
There were days when he almost wanted to say something, when he almost allows his feet to move on their own and approach her. Never does he let these thoughts take action. He knows she can tell, part of him believes she feels the same way. At least, part of him wishes. But they never get passed staring, and it never lasts more than a few moments. Perhaps there was nothing more to be said? However, that realization didn't stop him from wishing there was.  
Occasionally Mel would go over and talk with her. Doug would remain in his spot, watching them chat casually, as if nothing ever happened. He wasn't disappointed; he was glad to see their friendship remain. Mel didn't have many friends, and he could tell Chell didn't either. It was good they had each other.  
Even if it meant him staying far away.  
Neither of them spoke of this. It simply existed, never needing to be voiced. Doug knew Mel was always aware of him watching, his eyes fixed to the back of her head like glue. She never complained or called him out on this. He never apologized. It only existed.  
Every Saturday they would return home together, and Doug would feel those same eyes watching him carefully as they walked down the street, turning the corner and out of sight. He pretended not to know, but that day his self control got the better of him, and he chanced a glance back.  
He was right; she was watching. Her eyes weren't hard, or angry; there was no trace of that malice that he was met with when their eyes first locked those months ago. Instead, there was something he didn't expect to see, even in his wildest imaginations.  
Was it . . . sorrow?  
The look didn't last long enough for him to ascertain, Doug turning quickly back before he had to see that look turn into something hateful, as he was sure it would at his intrusion. He stepped up his pace to keep up with Mel, who had gotten a little ahead. He didn't look back again.  
“Well, that was nice while it lasted,” Mel grumbled, looking up at the sky.  
“What?” Doug asked, shaken out of his thoughts.  
“The sun,” Mel said, pointing to the sky, gray clouds looming in the distance.  
“It's going to rain again,” Doug mumbled.  
“Glad we went out today while we could,” Mel said, a warm smile on her face despite the darkness that awaited before them.  
Doug nodded in agreement. He was glad to have enjoyed the sun while it lasted. The rain always came back.  
“Maybe next time you two could talk,” Mel added, looking ahead.  
Doug nearly stopped, looking surprised at her.  
Mel gave him a knowing look, but said nothing. She just kept walking onward.   
The clouds had rolled in quickly, taking away the blue and white sky. The first few drops of rain were beginning to fall, but neither Mel nor Doug quickened their pace.  
Doug wasn't sure that would be a good idea, but now he couldn't get that final look out of his head. Would talking be beneficial? Or would it only deepen the wounds already inflicted?  
Maybe he would never know. Maybe he would discover in a week's time. He would never be sure unless he tried.  
And oh, did he want to try.

―

The rain hit fast. She didn't run for shelter like the rest of the vendors and shoppers, instead standing in the street freely, enjoying the feeling of rain against her skin. There was always something refreshing about the rain to her, like having every bad thought or feeling being washed away, gone without a trace.  
Maybe she could talk to him next time, Mel had told her. Maybe there was still something left to be said. Maybe she could even follow after them, spilling forth the thoughts that buzzed around in her head so strongly some nights she couldn't even sleep.  
Maybe she could find a better closure.  
She began to walk, picking up her pace with each new step, almost breaking out into a run. She reached their apartment in no time, watching as they entered their home and closed the door behind them. They didn't see her, and if they did they didn't show it.   
Chell took two steps forward, her feet splashing against the wet asphalt. It would only take a few steps, a few stairs, and a knock. It would be so easy. He looked back. He looked back and he met her eyes. He looked regretful, and for what Chell couldn't even begin to fathom. But she could ask. After months of avoiding each other she could finally break the silence and try harder to make amends. She could be brave again.   
But the next steps she took didn't lead to Mel's apartment. They led her home, back to solitude, back to silence. She couldn't do it today. Maybe she never would.  
She had grown comfortable to silence.


End file.
